
Qass ilEzzuZ 

Book Ii^ 



By bequest of 

William Lukens Shoemaker 



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POETICAL WORKS 



DR, JOHN DONNE, 



WITH A MEMOIR. 



BOSTON: 
LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY. 

SHKPAKD, CLARK A:ND CO. 

KEW YOEK: JAMES S. DICKEESOX. 

PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPIXCOTT AN1> CO. 

M.DCCC.LV. 



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RIVERSIDE, CAMBRIDGE: 
PRINTED BY H. O. HOUGHTON. AND COMPANY. 

STEREOTYPED BY STONE AND SMART- 

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TO THE EIGHT HONORABLE 

WILLIAM LORD GRAVEN, 

BAEON OF HAMSTED ilAKSHAM. 
MY LORD, 

IMany of these poems have, for several im- 
pressions, wandered up and down, trusting (as 
well they might) upon the author's reputation: 
neither do thej now complain of any injury, but 
what may proceed either from the kindness of the 
printer or the courtesy of the reader ; the one, by 
adding something too much, lest any spark of 
this sacred fire might perish undiscerned ; the 
other, by putting such an estimation upon the wit 
and fancy they find here, that they are content 
to use it as their own ; as if a man should dig 
out the stones of a royal amphitheatre, to build a 
stage for a country show. Amongst all the mon- 
sters this unlucky age has teemed with, I find none 
so prodigious as the poets of these later times, 
wherein men, as if they would level understand- 
ings too, as well as estates, acknowledging no 
inequality of parts and judgments, pretend as 
indifferently to the chair of wit as to the pulpit, 
and conceive themselves no less inspired with the 



4 DEDICATION. 

spirit of poetry, than with that of religion : so it 
is not only the noise of drums and trumpets, 
which have drowned the Muses' harmony, or the 
fear that the church's ruin will destroy the priests 
likewise, that now frights them from this country, 
where they have been so ingeniously received ; 
but these rude pretenders to excellences they 
unjustly own, who profanely rushing into Miner- 
va's temple, with noisome airs blast the laurel, 
which thunder cannot hurt. In this sad condition, 
these learned sisters are fled over to beg your 
lordship's protection, who have been so certain 
a patron both to arts and arms, and who, in this 
general confusion, have so entirely preserved your 
honor, that in your lordship we may still read a 
most perfect character of what England was in 
all her pomp and greatness. So that although 
these poems were formerly written, upon several 
occasions, to several persons, they now unite 
themselves, and are become one pyramid to set 
your lordship's statue upon ; where you may stand, 
like armed Apollo, the defender of the Muses, 
encouraging the poets now alive to celebrate your 
great acts, by affording your countenance to his 
poems, that wanted only so noble a subject. 
My Lord, 
Your most humble servant, 

John Donne.* 

* The eldest son of the poet, and editor of several of his 
father's works. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 

Life of Doxxe xi 

EPISTLES TO SETEKAL, PERSOKAGES. 

The Storm. To ilr. Christopher Brook, from the Island 

Voyage with the Earl of Essex 1 

The Calm 4 

To Sir Henry Wotton 6 

To Sir Henry Goodyere 9 

To Mr. Eowland Woodward 11 

To Sir Henry Wotton 13 

To the Countess of Bedford 15, 17, 22, 26, 47, 56 

To Sir Edward Herbert, since Lord Herbert of Cherbmy, 

being at the Siege of Juliers 20 

To the Countess of Huntingdon 29, 49 

ToMr. LW 32 

To Mr. T. W 33, 34 

Incerto 35 

To Mr. C. B 36 

To Mr. S. B ; 36 

To Mr. B. B. 37 

To Mr. E. W : 38 

To Mr. I. L 40 

To Mr. LP 40 

To the Earl of Doncaster, -with Six Holy Sonnets 41 

To Sir Henry Wotton, at his going Ambassador to Venice 42 

To Mrs. M. H. 44 

A Dialogue between Sir Henry Wotton, and Mr. Donne 54 
A letter to the Lady Cary, and j\Irs. Essex Eich, from 

Amiens 57 

To the Conntess of Salisbury 60 

To the Ladv Bedford .' 63 



VI CONTENTS. 

Page 

Sappho to Philgenis 65 

To Ben Jonson 67, .69 

To Sir Thomas Rowe, 1603 70 

FUNERAL. ELEGIES. 

Anatomy of the World 75, 78 

A Funeral Elegy 94 

Of the Progress of the Soul 99, 101 

An Elegy on the untimely Death of the incomparable 

Prince Henry 119 

To the Countess of Bedford : 123 

Obsequies to the Lord Harrington's Brother 124 

An Elegy on the Lady Markham 133 

Elegy on Mistress Boulstred 136, 140 

On Himself 139 

Elegy on the Lord C 142 

To Sir Eobert Carr 143 

Elegy 144 

An Epitaph on Shakspeare 146 

A Hymn to the Saints, and to Marquess Hamilton 147 

DIVINE POEMS. 

Holy Sonnets 151 

On the Blessed Virgin Mary 164 

The Cross 165 

Psalm 137 168 

Eesurrection, imperfect 171 

The Annunciation and Passion 172 

Good Friday, 1613, Eiding Westward 174 

The Litany 176 

Upon the Translation of the Psalms by Sir Philip Sydney, 

and the Countess of Pembroke his Sister 187 

Ode 189 

To Mr. Tilman, after he had taken Orders 190 

A Hymn to Christ, at the Author's last going into Ger- 
many 193 

On the Sacrament 194 

The Lamentations of Jeremy, for the most part according 

to Tremellius 195 

Hymn to God. my God, in my Sickness 213 



CONTENTS. Vll 

Page 

A Hymn to God the Father 215 

To Mr. George Herbert, with his Seal of the Anchor and 

Christ 216 

A Sheaf of Snakes used heretofore to be my Seal, the 

Crest of our Poor Family 217 

THE PEOGKESS OF THE SOUL. 

Epistle 221 

The Progress of the Soul 223 

MISCELLAJSTEOUS POEMS. 

The Flea 249 

The Good-Mon-ow 250 

Song 251 

Woman's Constancy 253 

The Undertaking 254 

The Sun-Eising 255 

The Indifferent 257 

Love's Usury 258 

Canonization 259 

The Triple Fool 261 

Lover's Infiniteness 262 

Song 264 

The Legacy • 265 

A Fever 267 

Air and Angels 268 

Break of Day 269 

The Anniversary 271 

A Valediction of my Name in the Window 272 

Twickenham Garden 275 

Valediction to his Book 276 

Community 279 

Love's Growth 280 

Love's Exchange 281 

Confined Love 283 

The Dream 284 

A Valediction of Weeping 285 

Love's Alchemy 286 

The Curse 287 



VIU CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Message 289 

A Nocturnal upon S. Lucy's Day, being the shortest 

Day 290 

Witchcraft by a Picture 292 

The Bait ../. 292 

The Apparition •. . 294 

The Broken Heart 295 

A Valediction forbidding Mourning 296 

The Ecstasy , 298 

Love's Deity 300 

Love's Diet 302 

The Will , 303 

The Funeral 305 

The Blossom 307 

The Primrose, being at Montgomery Castle, upon the 

Hill, on which it is situate 308 

The Eelic 310 

The Damp 311 

The Dissolution ,. . , 312 

A Jet Eing sent 313 

Negative Love 314 

The Prohibition /. 315 

The Expiration 316 

The Computation 317 

The Paradox , 317 

Song 318 

Farewell to Love 319 

Song 321 

A Lecture upon the ShadoAv 323 

The Token 324 

" He that cannot choose but love " 325 

EPIGRAMS. 

Hero and Leander 326 

Pyramus and Thisbe 326 

Niobe 326 

A Burnt Ship 326 

Fall of a Wall 327 

A Lame Beggar 327 



CONTENTS. IX 

Page 

A Self-accuser 327 

A Licentious Person 327 

Antiquary 327 

Disinherited 327 

Piiryne 328 

An bbscure Writer 328 

Eaderus 328 

Mercurius Gallo-Belgicus 328 

Translated out of Gazgeus, vota amico facta 328 

ELEGIES. 

Elegy I. Jealousy 329 

Elegy II. The Anagram 331 

Elegy III. Change 333 

Elegy IV. The Perfume 335 

Elegy V. HisPicture 338 

Elegy VI 339 

Elegy VII 341 

Elegy VIII. The Comparison 342 

Elegy IX. The Autumnal 344 

Elegy X. The Dream ..• 347 

Elegy XI. Upon the Loss of his Mistress's Chain, for 

which he made Satisfaction 348 

Elegy XII 352 

Elegy Xm. His Parting from her 355 

Elegy XIV. JuHa 359 

Elegy XV. A Tale of a Citizen and his Wife , . . . 360 

Elegy XVI. The Expostulation 363 

Elegy XVII 365 

To his Mistress going to Bed 369 

Elegy on his Mistress , 371 

Upon Mr. Thomas Coryat's Crudities 373 

Elegy 376 

EPITHALAMIONS, OR MARRIAGE SONGS. 

An Epithalamion on Frederick Count Palatine of the 
Rhine, and the Lady Elizabeth, being married on St. 

Valentine's Day 380 



X CONTENTS. 

Page 
Eclogue 386 

Epithalamion made at Lincoln's Inn 395 

SATIRES. 

Satire 1 400 

Satire II 404 

Satire III 408 

Satire IV 413 

Satire V 422 

Satire VI 425 

LATIN POEMS. 

In Sacram Anchoram Piscatoris, G. Herbert 428 

To Mr. George Herbert, sent him with one of my Seals 

of the Anchor and Christ 429 

Amicissimo et Meritissimo Benj. Jonson 430 

De Libro, Cum Mutuaretur, Impresso, Domi a Pueris 

Frustratim Lacerato, et post Eeddito Manuscripto 431 



SOilE ACCOUNT 



LIFE OF DR. JOHN DONNE* 

Dr. John Donne, the son of an eminent mer- 
chant, was born in London, in the year 1573 ; 
by his father descended from an ancient and wor- 
thy family in Wales, and by his mother from the 
famous and learned Sir Thomas More, Lord 
Chancellor of England. 

The first part of his education was under a 
private tutor in his father's house ; from whence, 
in the tenth year of his age, he was removed to 
Hart-Hall in Oxford, having already given many 
proofs of his great parts and abilities. Here he 
continued for the space of four years, with an un- 
wearied application to the study of the several 
sciences. In his fourteenth year, he was by his 
friends transplanted to Trinity College (as I take 
it) in Cambridge, and thence after three years' 
stay to Lincoln's-Inn ; in which honorable society 
he soon gained much esteem and reputation. 

About this time his studies were somewhat in- 

* This is an abridgment of "Walton's Life, and is taken 
from the edition of Donne's Poems published in 1719. 



XU LIFE OF DOXNE. 

terrupted by the death of an indulgent father. 
Being by this accident in a manner left to himself, 
and enabled withal by a handsome fortune of 
three thousand pounds (a sum in those days very 
considerable) to improve himself in what manner 
he pleased, he thought he could not do it better 
than by travel. Accordingly, he attended the 
Earl of Essex in the expedition to Cadiz ; and 
afterwards taking the tour of Italy and Spain, 
and making himself a thorough master of their 
languages, he was at his return into England 
promoted to be chief secretary to the then Lord 
Chancellor EUesmere. 

'T was here he passionately fell in love with, 
and privately married, a niece of the Lady EUes- 
mere' s, the daughter of Sir George More, Chan- 
cellor of the Garter, and Lieutenant of the Tower ; 
which so much enraged Sir George, that he not 
only procured Mr. Donne's dismission from his 
employment under the Lord Chancellor, but never 
rested till he had caused him likewise to be im- 
prisoned. 

Though it was not long before he was enlarged 
from his confinement, yet his troubles still increased 
upon him ; for his wife being detained from him, 
he was constrained to claim her by a trouble- 
some and expensive lawsuit, which, together with 
travel, books, and a too liberal disposition, con- 
tributed' to reduce his fortune to a very narrow 
compass. 



LIFE OF DONXE. Xlll 

Adversity has its peculiar vii'tues to exercise 
and work upon, as well as the most flourishing 
condition of life ; and Mr. Donne had now an 
opportunity of showing his patience and submis- 
sion, which, together with the general approbation 
he everywhere met with of Mr. Donne's good 
qualities, with an irresistible kind of persuasion 
so won upon Sir George, that he began now not 
wholly to disapprove of his daughter's choice ; 
and was at length so far reconciled as not to deny 
them his blessing, though he could not yet be 
prevailed upon to lend them his assisting hand 
towards their support. 

In the midst of these 3Ir. Donne's misfortunes 
he was happily relieved by his generous kinsman 
Sir Francis Woolley, of Pilford in Surrey, who 
entertained both him and his wife at his house for 
many years with much freedom, and as his family 
increased, (for he had every year a child,) propor- 
tionably enlarged his bounty. Here they contin- 
ued till Sir Francis's death; some time before 
which the good knight had labored, and so far 
effected a reconciliation with their father, Sir 
George, as to engage him under a bond to pay to 
Mr. Donne eight hundred pounds, or twenty 
pounds quarterly till it was paid, as a portion 
with his daughter. 

Mr. Donne, notwithstanding the many perplex- 
ities he was now involved in, was not hereby di- 
verted from his beloved studies ; for, during his 



XIV LIFE OF DONNE. 

stay with Sir Francis, he made himself perfectly 
acquainted with the Body of Civil and Canon 
Laws. 

Upon the loss of his worthy benefactor, he 
hired a house at Micham, in Surrey, for his wife 
and family, placing. them near some friends whose 
bounty he had often experienced ; but took lodg- 
ings for himself in London, where his occasions 
often required him. The reader will be best 
able to judge of the necessitous state Mr. Donne 
was now in, from an extract of one of his letters 
to a friend, which whoever can read without be- 
ing sensibly affected, must have retained but little 
of compassion or common humanity. 

" The reason why I did not send an answer to your 
last week's letter was because it found me in too great 
a sadness ; and, at present, 't is thus with me : there 
is not one person but myself well of my family ; I 
have already lost half a child, and with that mischance 
of hers my wife is fallen into such a discomposure as 
would afflict her too extremely, but that the sickness 
of all her children stupefies her ; of one of which, in 
good faith, I have not much hope : and these meet 
with a fortune so ill provided for physic and such 
relief, that if God should ease us with burials, I know 
not how to perform even that. But I flatter myself 
with this hope, that I am dying too; for I cannot 
waste faster than by such griefs. 

From my hospital at Micham, 
Auf. 10. John Donxe." 



LIFE OF DONNE. XV 

The only alleviation of these his sorrows was 
his having recourse to books, particularly his 
studying with much pains and labor the contro- 
versy between the Eeformed and the Eoman 
Church, (which before he had been no stranger 
to, having but at the age of nineteen carefully 
examined the works of Bellarmine and other 
famous writers of that time,) especially the two 
points, then so remarkably controverted, of Su- 
premacy and Allegiapce. 

And now, after this gloomy season of afEiction, 
did the dawn of some better fortune begin to 
appear; for, upon the advice of some of his 
friends, he removed himself and his family from 
Micham to London; and there, by Sir Eobert 
Drury, was placed rent-free in a handsome 
house, next his own, in Drury-lane. He had 
heretofore been well known to and much valued 
by many of the nobility, by some of whom he 
was now introduced and recommended to the 
king. His Majesty needed not much solicita- 
tion in his behalf, himself soon taking great 
delight in his company ; insomuch that one day, 
having talked with him on the Oaths of Suprem- 
acy and Allegiance, he was much pleased with 
his discourse, and commanded him to draw up 
into some form the arguments and objections that 
had been brought upon those points, with his 
answers thereto. This he soon did, and delivered 
them to the king in the 3ame order they are now 
printed in his Pseudo-Martyr. 
h 



XVI LIFE OF DONNE. 

The king, upon reading this book of Mr. 
Donne's, was so struck with admiration of his 
learning and abilities that he immediately devoted 
him to the ministry, and from that time, with 
much earnestness, persuaded him to take holy 
orders. 'T is here to be remembered that some 
time before this. Dr. Morton, (afterwards Bishop 
of Durham,) upon his being made Dean of Glou- 
cester, had with the same pious intentions solic- 
ited him to enter upon ^t sacred function, 
promising him to deliver up to him a very valu- 
able benefice himself was then possessed of; but 
through Mr. Donne's excessive modesty (though 
his circumstances were then at the lowest) he 
could not prevail. But to His Majesty's com- 
mands Mr. Donne (though not without some 
unwillingness) did consent ; at the same time 
requesting he might be allowed to defer it till 
he had made some further advances in the study 
of divinity and the learn<ed languages. 

This being granted, at the end of three years 
he was by his learned friend, Dr. King, Bishop 
of London, ordained, with all convenient speed, 
both deacon and priest. Upon which the king 
immediately made him one of his chaplains ; and 
not long after this, the king being at Cambridge, 
the University, in obedience to His Majesty's 
command, conferred upon Mr. Donne the degree 
of Doctor in Divinity. 

The Lectureship of Lincolns-Inn, about this 



LIFE OF DOXNE. XVll 

time, happening to be vacant, the Benchers pres- 
ently made choice of their old fellow-student, Dr. 
Donne, to be their preacher, provided him with 
handsome apartments, and expressed their affec- 
tion to him by sundry other acts of liberality and 
kindness. 

In this society he continued three years, till 
the king, sending over the Earl of Doncaster 
into Germany to compose the unhappy business 
of the Palsgrave, was likewise pleased to appoint 
the Doctor his assistant in that important affair. 

Within a year after his return into England 
the Deanery of St. Paul's becoming vacant (by 
the removal of Dr. Gary to the See of Exeter) 
the king ordered him to attend him at dinner the 
next day. When His Majesty was sat down, he 
said, with his usual pleasantness : " Dr. Donne ! 
I have invited you to dinner, and, though you sit 
not down with me, I will carve to you of a dish 
I know you love well ; for knowing you love 
London, I do, therefore, make you Dean of St. 
Paul's ; and when I have dined, then do you take 
your beloved dish home to your study ; say grace 
there to yourself, and much good may it do you." 
So much did the king esteem Dr. Donne, that 
when he had been speaking of him, he was heard 
more than once to say : " I always rejoice when 
I think that by my means he became a divine." 

The first thing he set about, after his admission 
into the deanery, was the repairing and beautify- 



XVlll LIFE OF DONNE. 

ing the cliapel ; he likewise frankly forgave his 
father-in-law, Sir George More, the quarterly 
payment of his wife's portion. Not long after 
fell to him the Vicarage of St. Dunstan's in the 
West, the advowson of which was given him by 
the Earl of Dorset; as did soon after another 
benefice, formerly given him by the Earl of Kent ; 
and in the next parliament he was chosen pro- 
locutor of the convocation, on which occasion [he 
pronounced a Latin oration] as his inauguration 
speech. 

In his fifty-fourth year he fell into a lingering 
consumption, which grew at last so dangerous as 
to make his friends despair of his recovery. But 
it pleased God miraculously to restore him ; nor 
was he unmindful of these great mercies, having 
abundantly acknowledged his thankfulness for 
them in that admirable book of devotions he wrote 
in his sickness and published at his recovery. 

The reader will find the same spirit of religion 
I have been speaking of in several of the follow- 
ing pieces ; especially his Hymn to God, the 
Father, and that which he wrote on his death- 
bed, bearing this title. An Hymn to God, my God 
in my Sickness > the former of which he caused 
to be set to solemn music, and performed before 
him in the choir of St. Paul's. 

As to the more airy part of his poetical com- 
positionSj they were only the innocent amusement 
and diversion of his youth, being most of them 



LIFE OF DONNE. XIX 

written before his twentieth year ; so happy at 
this age was he in the sprightliness of his wit 
and the dehcacy of his fancy. His poem called 
The Autumnal, he wrote at Oxford, upon the 
Lady Herbert, mother of his dear friend, Mr. 
George Herbert, the author of that excellent 
book called The Temple. 

Besides his books already mentioned, he left 
in writing under his own hand many judicious 
observations from fourteen hundred authors, be- 
sides sixscore sermons, and his famous treatise, 
named Biathanatos ; all which are ample testi- 
monies as well of his prodigious industry and 
learning as of his great parts and exquisite judg- 
ment. 

From this short account of the Doctor's writ- 
ings let us now return to himself ; who, notwith- 
standing his being recovered from his late illness, 
did again relapse into his old distemper ; and 
finding he began to decay sensibly, and hasten to 
his end, the week before his death he sent for 
many of his intimate friends to take his last leave 
of them. Having done this, and settled his private 
affairs, with much cheerfulness and resignation he 
expected his dissolution ; and having steadfastly 
fixed his thoughts on the approaching happiness 
he was now in view of, he closed his last breath 
with saying : Thy kingdom come ; Thy will be 
done! And having said this, he sweetly fell 
asleep, the 31st day of March, 1631. 



XX LIFE OF DONNE. 

It must not here be omitted, that amongst his 
other preparations for death he made use of this 
very remarkable one. He ordered an urn to be 
cut in wood, on which was to be placed a board 
of the height of his body. This being done, he 
caused himself to be tied up in his winding-sheet, 
in the same manner as dead bodies are. Being 
thus shrouded, and standing with his eyes shut, 
with just so much of the sheet put aside as might 
discover his thin, pale, and deathlike face, he 
caused a curious painter to take his picture. This 
piece being finished was placed near his bedside, 
and there remained as his constant remembrancer 
to the hour of his death. And from this his exe- 
cutor, Dr. King, Bishop of Chichester, got a 
monument carved in white marble, and placed in 
St. Paul's, where he was buried, with this inscrip- 
tion of the Doctor's own composing : — 

JOHANNES DONNE, S. T. P. 
Post varia Studia, quibus ab annis tenerrimis fideliter, 

Nee infeliciter, incubuit, 

Instinetu & impulsu Spiritus Sancti, monitu & hortatu 

Regis JACOBI, Ordines Sacros amplexus 

Anno sui Jesu 1614, & suae aetatis 42 : 

Decanatu hujus Ecclesiae indutus 27 Novembris, 1621 . 

Exutus morte ultimo die Martii, 1631. 

Hie, licet in occiduo cinere, aspicit Eum 

Cujus Nomen est Oriens. 

I cannot better conclude this brief account of 



LIFE OF DONNE. X:s:i 

Dr. Donne, than in that admirable character of 
him drawn up by Mr. Isaac "Walton, which I 
shall present to the reader entire as I find it. 

He was of stature moderately tall, of a straight and 
well-proportioned body ; to which all his words and 
actions gave an unexpressible addition of comeliness. 

The melancholy and pleasant humor were in him 
so contempered that each gave advantage to the other, 
and made his company one of the delights of man- 
kind. 

His fancy was unimitably high, equalled only by his 
great wit ; both being made useful by a commanding 
judgment 

His aspect was cheerful, and such as gave a silent 
testimony of a clear knowing soul, and of a conscience 
at peace with itself. 

His melting eye showed that he had a soft heart, 
full of noble compassion ; of too brave a soul to ofier 
injuries, and too much a Christian not to pardon them 
in others. 

He did much contemplate (especially after he had 
entered into his sacred calling) the mercies of Almighty 
God, the immortahty of the souL, and the joys of 
heaven ; and would often say, in a kind of sacred 
ecstasy,- Blessed be God, that he is God only, and 
divinely hke himself. 

He was by nature highly passionate, but more apt 
to reluct at the excesses of it; a great lover of the 
offices of humanity, and of so merciful a spirit that he 
never beheld the miseries of mankind without pit}' 
and relief. 

He was earnest and unwearied in the search of 



XXll LIFE OF DONNE. 

knowledge ; ■with which, his vigorous soul is now satis- 
fied, and employed in a continual praise of that God 
that first breathed it into his active body ; that body 
which once was a temple of the Holy Ghost, and is 
now become a small quantity of Christian dust. 
But I shall see it reanimated. 

I. W. 



EPISTLES 
TO SEVERAL PERSOXAGES. 

THE STOmi. 

TO MR. CHRISTOPHER BROOK, FROM THE ISLAXD 
VOTAGE WITH THE EARL OF ESSEX. 

Thou, wMch art I ('tis nothing to be so) 

Thou, which art still thyself, by this shalt know 

Part of our passage ; and a hand, or eye, 

By Hilliard* drawn, is worth a history 

By a worse painter made; and (without pride) 

When by thy judgment they are dignified, 

My lines are such : 'tis the preeminence 

Of friendship only to impute exC'ellence. 

England, to whom we owe what we be and have, 

Sad that her sons did seek a foreign grave 

(For Fate's or Fortune's drifts none can sooth- 

say,t 
Honour and misery have one face, one way,) 
From out her pregnant entrails sighed a wind, 
Which at the air's middle marble room did find 

* Nicholas Hilliard, bom at Exeter, 1547, died 1619. He 
imitated Holbein. His portrait of Mary Queen of Scots "was 
much applauded, and Queen Elizabeth sat to him several 
times. 

t Var. gainsay. 

1 



^ EPISTLES. 

Such Strong resistance, that itself it threw 
Downward again ; and so when it did view 
How in the port our fleet dear time did leese, 
Withering like prisoners, which lie but for fees, — 
Mildly it kissed our sails, and fresh and sweet, 
As to a stomach starved, whose insides meet. 
Meat comes, it came, and swole our sails, when we 
So joyed, as Sara her swelling joyed to see : 
But 'twas but so kind as our countrymen, 
"Which bring friends one day's way, and leave 

them then. 
Then like two mighty kings which, dwelling far 
Asunder, meet against a third to war, 
The south and west winds joined, and, as they 

blew, 
Waves like a rolling trench before them threw. 
Sooner than you read this line, did the gale. 
Like shot not feared till felt, our sails assail. 
And what at first was called a gust, the same 
Hath now a storm's, anon a tempest's name. 
Jonas, I pity thee, and curse those men, [then : 
Who, when the storm raged most, did wake thee 
Sleep is pain's easiest salve, and doth fulfil 
All offices of death, except to kill. 
But when I waked, I saw that I saw not. 
I and the Sun, which should teach me, 'had forgot 
East, west, day, night ; and I could only say, 
If the world lasted, now it had been day.* 

* Varr. Had the world lasted, that it had been day. 
If the world had lasted, yet it had been day. — 



EPISTLES. 6 

Thousands our noises were, yet we amongst all 
Could none by his right name, but thunder call : 
Lightning was all our light, and it rained more, 
Than if the sun had drunk the sea before. 
Some coffined in their cabins lie equally 
Grieved that they are not dead, and yet must die : 
And as sin-burdened souls from graves will creep 
At the last day, some forth their cabins peep. 
And trembling ask what news, and do hear so 
As jealous husbands, what they would not know ; 
Some, sitting on the hatches, would seem there 
"With hideous gazing to fear away Fear ; 
There note they the ship's sicknesses, the mast 
Shaked with an ague, and the hold and waist 
With a salt dropsy clogged ; and our tacklings 
Snapping like too high-stretched treble-strings ; 
And from our tattered sails rags drop down so. 
As from one hanged in chains a year ago ; 
Yea ev'u our ordnance, placed for our defence, 
Strives to break loose, and scape away from thence. 
Pumping hath tired our men, and what's the 

gain ? 
Seas into seas thrown, we suck in again : 
Hearing hath deafed our sailors, and if they 
Knew how to hear, there 's none knows what to say. 
Compared to these storms, death is but a qualm, 
Hell somewhat lightsome, the Bermudas calm : 
Darkness, light's eldest brother, his birthright 
Claims o'er the world, and to heaven hath chased 

light: 



All things are one ; and that one none can be, 
Since all forms uniform deformity 
Doth cover ; so that we, except God say 
Another Fiat, shall have no more day ; 
So violent, yet long, these furies be, 
That though thine absence starve me, I wish not 
thee. 



THE CALM. 

Our storm is past, and that storm's tyrannous rage 
A stupid calm, but nothing it, doth suage. 
The fable is inverted, and far more 
A block afflicts now, than a stork before. 
Storms chase, and soon wear out themselves or us ; 
In calms Heaven laughs to see us languish thus. 
As steady as I can wish that my thoughts were, 
Smooth as thy mistress' glass, or what shines 

there, 
The sea is now, and as the isles which we 
Seek, when we can move, our ships rooted be. 
As water did in storms, now. pitch runs out, 
As lead when a fired church becomes one spout ; 
And all our beauty and our trim decays. 
Like courts removing, or like ended plays. 
The fighting-place now seamen's rags supply, 
And all the tackling is a frippery. 
No use of lanterns ; and in one place lay 
Feathers and dust, to day and yesterday. 



Earth's hoUownesses, which the world's lungs are, 
Have no more wind than the upper vault of air -, 
We can nor lost friends nor sought foes recover, 
But meteor-like, save that we move not, hover. 
Only the calenture together draws 
Dear friends, which meet dead in great fishes' 

maws ; 
And on the hatches, as on altars, lies 
Each one, his own priest, and own sacrifice. 
"Who live, that miracle do multiply 
Where walkers in hot ovens do not die : 
If in despite of these we swim, that hath 
No more refreshing than a brimstone-bath ; 
But from the sea into the ship we turn. 
Like parboiled wretches, on the coals to burn. 
Like Bajazet encaged, the shepherds' scoff. 
Or like slack-sinewed Samson, his hair off, 
Languish our ships. Now as a myriad 
Of ants durst the emperor's loved snake invade, 
The crawling galley, sea-gulls, finny chips. 
Might brave our pinnaces,* now bed-rid ships : 
Whether a rotten state and hope of gain, 
Or to disuse me from the queasy pain 
Of being beloved and loving, or the thirst 
Of honor, or fair death, outpushed me first, 
I lose my end ; for here as well as I 
A desperate may live, and coward die. 
Stag, dog, and all, which from or towards flies, 
Is paid with life or prey, or doing dies ; 

* Var. Yenices, ed. 1633. 



Fate grudges us all, and doth subtly lay 
A scourge, 'gainst which we all forget to pray. 
He that at sea prays for more wind, as well . 
Under the poles may beg cold, heat in hell. 
What are we then ? How little more, alas ! 
Is man now, than before he was, he was ! 
Nothing for us, we are for nothing fit ; 
Chance or ourselves still disproportion it ; 
We have no power, no will, no sense ; I lie, 
I should not then thus feel this misery. 

TO SIR HENRY WOTTON. 

Sir, more than kisses, letters mingle souls, 
For thus friends absent speak. This ease controls 
The tediousness of my life : but for these 
I could ideate nothing which could please ; * 
But I should wither in one day, and pass 
To a bottle of hay, that am a lock of grass. 
Life is a voyage, and in our life's ways 
Countries, courts, towns are rocks or remoras ; 
They break or stop all ships, yet our state's such 
That (though than pitch they stain worse) we 

must touch. 
If in the furnace of the even f Line, 
Or under the adverse icy Pole thou pine, 
Thou know'st, two temperate regions girded in 
Dwell there ; but oh ! what refuge canst thou win 

* Var. I could invent nothing at all to please, 
t Var. raging, ed. 1635. 



EPISTLES. 7 

Parched in the court, and in the country frozen ? 
Shall cities built of both extremes be chosen ? 
Can dung or garlic be 'a perfume ? Or can 
A scorpion or torpedo cure a man ? 
Cities are worst of all three ; of all three ? 
(0 knotty riddle) each is worst equally. 
Cities are sepulchres ; they who dwell there 
Are carcasses, as if none such there were ; 
And courts are theatres, where some men play 
Princes, some slaves, all to one end, of one clay.* 
The country is a desert, where the good 
Gained, inhabits not ; born 's not understood ; f 
There men become beasts, and prone to all evils ; 
In cities, blocks ; and in a lewd court, devils. 
As in the first Chaos confusedly 
Each element's qualities were in the other three, 
So pride, lust, covetise, being several 
To these three places, yet all are in all ; 
And mingled thus, their issue is incestuous : 
Falsehood is denizened ; Virtue is barbarous. 
Let no man say there, Virtue's flinty wall 
Shall lock vice in me ; I '11 do none, but know all. 
Men are sponges, which, to pour out, receive ; 
Who know false play, rather than lose, deceive. 
For in best understanding sin began ; 
Angels sinned first, then devils, and then man. 
Only perchance beasts sin not ; wretched we 
Are beasts in all but white integrity. 

* Var. and all end in one day. 

t Var. where no good 

Gained as habits ; nor, bom, 's understood. Ed. 1633. 



I think if men, which in these places live, 
Durst look in themselves, and themselves retrieve, 
They would like strangers greet themselves, seeing 

than 
Utopian youth, grown old Italian. 

Be thou thine own home, and in thyself dwell ; 
Inn anywhere ; continuance maketh hell. 
And seeing the snail, which everywhere doth roam, 
Carrying his own house still, still is at home, 
Follow (for he is easy-paced) this snail. 
Be thine own palace, or the world 's thy jail. 
And in the world's sea, do not like cork sleep 
Upon the water's face, nor in the deep 
Sink like a lead without a line, — but as 
Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass. 
Nor making sound, so closely thy course go, 
Let men dispute whether thou breathe, or no : 
Only in this be no Galenist, — to make 
Court's hot ambitions wholesome, do not take 
A dram of country's dulness ; do not add 
Correctives, but as chymics purge the bad ; 
But, Sir, I advise not you, I rather do 
Say o'er those lessons, which I learned of you : 
Whom, free from Germany's schisms, and lightness 
Of France, and fair Italy's faithlessness, 
Having from these sucked all they had of worth, 
And brought home that faith which you carried 

forth, 
I throughly love : but if myself I have won 
To know my rules, I have, and you have 

DONNE. 



TO SIR HENRY GOODYERE. 

Who makes the past * a pattern for next year, 
Turns no new leaf, but still the same things reads, 

Seen things he sees again, heard things doth hear. 
And makes his life but like a pair of beads. 

A palace, when 'tis that which it should be. 
Leaves growing, and stands such, or else decays ; 

But he which dwells there is not so ; for he 
Strives to urge upward, and his fortune raise. 

So had your body her morning, hath her noon. 
And shall not better ; her next change is night : 

But her fair larger guest, to whom sun and moon 
Are sparks, and short-lived, claims another right. 

The noble soul by age grows lustier. 
Her appetite and her digestion mend ; 

We must not starve, nor hope to pamper her 
With woman's milk and pap unto the end. 

Provide you manlier diet ; you have seen 

All libraries, which are schools, camps and 
courts ; 

But ask your garners if you have not been 
In harvests too indulgent to your sports. 

* Var. last. 



10 EPISTLES. 

Would you redeem it ? Then yourself transplant 
Awhile from hence. Perchance outlandish 
ground 

Bears no more wit than ours ; but yet more scant 
Are those diversions there, which here abound. 

To be a stranger hath that benefit, 

We can beginnings, but not habits choke : 

Go, whither ? hence ; you get, if you forget ; 
New faults, till they prescribe in us, are smoke. 

Our soul, whose country's Heaven, and God her 
father. 

Into this world, corruption's sink, is sent ; 
Yet so much in her travel she doth gather. 

That she returns home wiser than she went. 

It pays you well, if it teach you to spare, 

And make you ashamed to make your hawk's 
praise yours. 

Which when herself she lessens in the air, 

You then first say that high enough she towers. 

However, keep the lively taste you hold 

Of God ; love him as now, but fear him more : 

And in your afternoons think what you told 
And promised him at morning-prayer before. 

Let falsehoood like a discord anger you ; 
Else be not froward : but why do I touch 



EPISTLES. 11 

Things, of which none is in your practice new, 
And tables or fruit-trenchers teach as much ? 

But thus I make you keep your promise, Sir ; 

Riding I had you, though you still stayed there, 
And in these thoughts, although you never stir, 

You came with me to Micham, and are here. 



TO MR. ROWLAND WOODWARD. 

Like one, who in her third widowhood doth pro- 
fess 
Herself a nun, tied to retiredness, 
So affects my Muse now a chaste fallowness ; 

Since she to few, yet to too many, hath shown, 
How love-song weeds and satyric thorns are 

grown. 
Where seeds of better arts were early sown. 

Though to use and love poetry, to me, 
Betrothed to no one art, be no adultery ; 
Omissions of good, ill as ill deeds be. 



12 EPISTLES. 

For though to us it seem but* light and thin, 
Yet in those faithful scales, where God throws in 
Men's works, vanity weighs as much as sin. 

If our souls have stained their first white, yet we 
May clothe them with faith and dear honesty, 
Which God imputes as native purity. 

There is no virtue but religion : 

Wise, valiant, sober, just, are names which none 

Want, which want not vice-covering discretion. 

Seek we then ourselves in ourselves ; for as 
Men force the sun with much more force to pass, 
By gathering his beams with a crystal glass, 

So we (if we into ourselves will turn, 
Blowing our sparks of virtue) may outburn 
The straw which doth about our hearts sojourn. 

You know physicians, when they would infuse 

Into any oil the souls of simples, use 

Places where they may lie still warm, to choose. 

So works retiredness in us ; to roam 
Giddily, and be everywhere but at home. 
Such freedom doth a banishment become. 

* Var. and be. Ed. 1633. 



13 



We are but termors* of ourselves ; yet may, 
K we can stock ourselves and thrive, uplay 
Much, much dear treasure for the great rent-day. 

Manure thyself then, to thyself be approved,! 
And with vain outward things be no more moved, 
But to know that I love thee and would be loved. 



TO SIE HENEY WOTTON. 

Here 's no more news than virtue ; I may as well 
Tell you Calais, or Saint Michael's tales,]: as 

tell 
That vice doth here habitually dwell. 

Yet as, to get stomachs, we walk up and down. 
And toil to sweeten rest ; so, may God frown. 
If but to loathe both, I haunt court and town. 

For here no one is from the extremity 

Of vice by any other reason free. 

But that the next to him still 's worse than he. 

* Var. farmers. Ed. 1635. 

t Var. improved. Ed. 1633. 

t Var. Mount, for news. Ed. 1633. 



14 EPISTLES. 

In this world's warfare they whom rugged Fate, 

(God's commissary) doth so throughly hate, 

As in the Court's squadron to marshal their state ; 

If they stand armed with seely honesty, 
With wishing, prayers, and neat integrity, 
Like Indians 'gainst Spanish hosts they be. 

Suspicious boldness to this place belongs, 
And to have as many ears as all have tongues ; 
Tender to know, tough to acknowledge wrongs. 

Believe me, Sir, in my youth's giddiest days. 
When to be like the court was a player's praise, 
Plays were not so like courts, as courts like plays. 

Then let us at these mimic antics jest. 
Whose deepest projects and egregious gests 
Are but dull morals of a game at chests. 

But now 'tis incongruity to smile. 

Therefore I end ; and bid farewell a while 

At court, though from court were the better style. 



15 



TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

Madajh, 
Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right ; 
By these we reach divinity, — that's you : 
Their loves, who have the blessing of your light, 
Grew from their Reason ; mine from fair Faith 
grew. 

But as, although a squint left-handedness 
Be ungracious, yet we cannot want that hand, 
So would I (not to increase, but to express 
My faith) as I believe, so understand. 

Therefore I study you first in your saints, 
Those friends, whom your election glorifies ; 
Then in your deeds, accesses and restraints, 
And what you read, and what yourself devise. 

But soon, the reasons why you 're loved by all, 
Grow infinite, and so pass Reason's reach. 
Then back again to implicit Faith I fall. 
And rest on what the catholic voice* doth teach ; 

* Far. faith. 



16 EPISTLES. 

That you are good : and not one heretic 
Denies it ; if he did, yet you are so ; [stick,* 

For rocks which high-topped and deep-rooted 
Waves wash, not undermine, nor overthrow. 

In every thing there naturally grows 
A balsamum, to keep it fresh and new, 
If 't were not injured by extrinsic blows ; 
Your birth and beauty are this balm in you. 

But you of learning and religion 

And virtue and such ingredients have made 

A mithridate, whose operation 

Keeps off or cures what can be done or said. 

Yet this is not your physic, but your food, 

A diet fit for you ; for you are here 

The first good angel, since the world's frame stood. 

That ever did in woman's shape appear. 

Since you are then God's masterpiece, and so 
His factor for our loves, do as you do ; 
Make your return home gracious, and bestow 
This life on that ; so make one life of two : 

For, so, God help me, I would not miss you 
there 

For all the good which you can do me here. 



* Varr. high do seem, deep-rooted stick, 
high to sense. 



17 



TO THE COUXTESS OF BEDFOED. 

Mada:m, 
You have refined me ; and to worthiest things, 
Virtue, art, beauty, fortune, now I see 
Rareness or use, not nature, value brings ; 
And such, as they are circumstanced, they be. 
Two ills can ne'er perplex us, sin to excuse. 
But of two good things we may leave or choose. 

Therefore at court, which is not Virtue's clime. 
Where a transcendent height (as lowness me) 
Makes her not be,* or not show, all my rhyme 
Your virtues challenge, which there rarest be ; 
For as dark texts need notes, some there must be 
To usher Virtue, and say. This is she. 

So in the country's beauty. To this place 
You are the season (Madam) you the day, 
'Tis but a grave of spices, till your face 
Exhale them, and a thick, close bud display. 

Widowed and reclused else, her sweets she en- 
shrines, 

As China, when the sun at Brazil dines. 

* Var. see. 
2 



18 EPISTLES. 

Out from your chariot morning breaks at night, 

And falsifies both computations so ; 

Since a new world doth rise here from your 

light, 
We your new creatures by new reckonings go : 

This shows that you from nature loathly stray, 

That suffer not an artificial day. 

In this you 've made the court the antipodes. 
And willed your delegate, the vulgar sun. 
To do profane autumnal offices. 
Whilst here to you we sacrificers run ; 

And whether priests, or organs, you we obey, 
We sound your influence, and your dictates 



Yet to that deity which dwells in you, 

Your virtuous soul, I now not sacrifice ; 

These are petitions, and not hymns ; they sue 

But that I may survey the edifice. 

In all religions as much care hath been 

Of temples' frames, and beauty, as rites within. 

As all which go to Rome, do not thereby 
Esteem religions, and hold fast the best. 
But serve discourse and curiosity 
With that which doth religion but invest, 

And shun the entangling labyrinths of schools, 
And make it wit to think the wiser fools ; — 



EPISTLES. 19 

So in this pilgrimage I would behold 
You as you 're Virtue's temple, not as she ; 
What walls of tender crystal her enfold, 
What eyes, hands, bosom, her pure altars be, 
And after this survey oppose to all 
Babblers of chapels, you, the Escurial. 

Yet not as consecrate, but merely as fair : 

On these I cast a lay and country eye. 

Of past and future stories, which are rare, 

I find you all record and prophecy. 

Purge but the book of Fate, that it admit 
No sad nor guilty legends, — you are it. 

If good and lovely were not one, of both 
You were the transcript and original. 
The elements, the parent, and the growth, 
And every piece of you is both* their all : 

So entire are all your deeds and you, that you 
Must do the same things still ; you cannot two. 

But these (as nice thin school-divinity 

Serves heresy to further or repress) 

Taste of poetic rage, or flattery. 

And need not, where all hearts one truth profess ; 

Oft from new proofs and new phrase new doubts 

grow, 
As strange attire aliensf the men we know. 

* Var. worth. Ed. 1635. 
t Var. alters do. 



20 " EPISTLES. 

Leaving them busy praise and all appeal 
To higher courts, sense's decree is true ; 
The mine, the magazine, the commonweal. 
The story of beauty, in Twicknam is and you ; 

"Who hath seen one, would both ; as who hath 
been 

In paradise, would seek the Cherubin. 



SIR EDWARD HERBERT, 

SINCE LORD HEKBEKT OP CHERBURY, BEING AT THE 
SIEGE or JULIERS. 

Man is a lump, where all beasts kneaded be. 
Wisdom makes him an ark where all agree ; 
The fool, in whom these beasts do live at jar, 
Is sport to others, and a theatre : 
Nor scapes he so, but is himself their prey ; 
All which was man in him, is eat away ; 
And now his beasts on one another feed. 
Yet couple in anger, and new monsters breed : 
How happy is he, which hath due place assigned 
To his beasts ! and disaforested his mind. 
Empaled himself to keep them out, not in ; 
Can sow, and dares trust corn, where they have 
been ; 



EPISTLES. 21 

Can use his horse, goat, wolf, and every b^ast. 

And is not ass himself to all the rest ! 

Else man not only is the herd of swine, 

But he 's those devils, too, which did incline 

Them to a headlong rage and made them worse ; 

For man can add weight to heaven's heaviest curse. 

As souls (they say) by our first touch take in 

The poisonous tincture of original sin, 

So to the punishments which God doth fling, 

Our apprehension contributes the sting. 

To us, as to his chickens, he doth cast 

Hemlock ; and we, as men, his hemlock taste, 

We do infuse to what he meant for meat 

Corrosiveness, or intense cold or heat : 

For God no such specific poison hath 

As kills, we know not how ; his fiercest wrath 

Hath no antipathy, but may be good 

At least for physic, if not for our food. 

Thus man, that might be his pleasure, is his rod ; 

And is his devil, that might be his God. 

Since then our business is to rectify 

Nature to what she was, we 're led awry 

By them who man to us in little show ; 

Greater than due no form we can bestow 

On him ; for man into himself can draw 

All ; all his faith can swallow, or reason chaw ; 

All that is filled, and all that which doth fill, 

All the round world, to man is but a pill ; 

In all it works not, but it is in all 

Poisonous, or purgative, or cordial. 



22 EPISTLES. 

For knowledge kindles calentures in some, 
And is to others icy opium. 
As brave as true is that profession than, 
Which you do use to make ; that you know man. 
This makes it credible, you 've dwelt upon 
All worthy books, and now are such a one ; 
Actions are authors, and of those in you 
Your friends find every day a mart of new. 



TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFOED. 

T' HAVE written then, when you writ, seemed to me 

Worst of spiritual vices, simony ; 

And not to have written then, seems little less 

Than worst of civil vices, thanklessness. 

In this my debt * I seemed loath to confess, 

In that I seemed to shun beholdingness : 

But 'tis not so : Nothings, as I am, may 

Pay all they have, and yet have all to pay. 

Such borrow in their payments, and owe more 

By having leave to write so, than before. 

Yet, since rich mines in barren grounds are shown, 

May not I yield, not gold, but coal or stone ? 

Temples were not demolished, though profane ; 

Here Peter Jove's, there Paul hath Dian's fane. 

* Var. doubt. 



EPISTLES. 23 

So whether my hymns you admit or choose, 

In me you 've hallowed a pagan muse, 

And denizened a stranger, who, mistaught 

By blamers of the times they marred, hath sought 

Virtues in corners, which now bravely do 

Shine in the world's best part, or all in you.* 

I have been told that virtue in courtier's hearts 

Suffers an ostracism and departs. 

Profit, ease, fitness, plenty bid it go. 

But whither, only knowing you, I know ; 

You, or your virtue, to vast uses serves. 

It ransoms one sex and one court preserves ; 

There 's nothing but your worth, which being true 

Is known to any other, not to you ; 

And you can never know it ; to admit 

No knowledge of your worth, is some of it. 

But since to you your praises discords be. 

Stoop other's ills to meditate with me. 

Oh, to confess we know not what we would 

Is half excuse, we know not what we should. 

Lightness depresseth us, emptiness fills ; 

"We sweat and faint, yet still go down the hills ; 

As new philosophy arrests the sun, 

And bids the passive earth about it run. 

So we have dulled our mind, it hath no ends ; 

Only the body is busy and pretends. 

As dead low earth eclipses and controls 

The quick high moon, so doth the body souls : 

In none but us are such mixed engines found, 

* Var. or all it, — You. 



24 EPISTLES. 

As hands of double office ; for the ground 
We till with them, and them to heaven we raise ; 
Who prayerless labours, or without this prays, 
Doth but one half; that's none; he which said, 

Plough, 
And look not hack, to look up doth allow. 
Good seed degenerates, and oft obeys 
The soil's disease, and into cockle strays : 
Let the mind's thoughts be but transplanted so 
Into the body, and bastardly they grow. 
What hate could hurt our bodies like our love ? 
We, but no foreign tyrants, could remove 
These, not engraved, but inborn dignities 
Caskets of souls, temples and palaces. 
For bodies shall from death redeemed be. 
Souls but preserved, born * naturally free ; 
As men to our prisons now,t souls to us are sent, 
Which learn vice there, and come in innocent. 
First seeds of every creature are in us ; 
Whate'er the world hath bad or precious, 
Man's body can produce : hence hath it been. 
That stones, worms, frogs and snakes in man are 

seen: 
But who e'er saw, though nature can work so, 
That pearl, or gold, or corn in man did grow ? 
We have added to the world Virginia, and sent 
Two new stars lately to the firmament ; 
Why grudge we us (not heaven) the dignity 
To increase with ours those fair souls' company ? 

* Var. not. t Var. new souls. 



EPISTLES. 25 

But I must end this letter ; though it do 
Stand on two truths, neither is true to you. 
Virtue hath some perverseness ; for she will 
Neither believe her good, nor other's ill. 
Even in you, virtue's best paradise, 
Virtue hath some, but wise, degrees of vice. 
Too many virtues, or too much of one 
Begets in you unjust suspicion. 
And ignorance of vice makes virtue less, 
Quenching compassion of our wretchedness. 
But these are riddles : some aspersion 
Of vice becomes well some complexion. 
Statesmen purge vice with vice, and may corrode 
The bad with bad, a spider with a toad ; 
For so ill thralls not them, but they tame ill. 
And make her do much good against her will ; 
But in your commonwealth, or world in you. 
Vice hath no office or good work to do. 
Take then no vicious purge, but be content 
With cordial virtue, your known nourishment. 



26 



TO THE COUi^TESS OF BEDFOKD. 

ON new-tear's day. 

This twilight of two years, not past, nor next, 
Some emblem is of me, or I of this, 

Who meteor-like, of stuff and form perplext, 
Whose what and where in disputation is,) 
If I should call me anything, should miss. 

I sum the years and me, and find me not 

Debtor to the old, nor creditor to the new : 
That cannot say, my thanks I have forgot ; 
Nor trust I this with hopes ; and yet scarce 

true * 
This bravery is ; since these times showed me 
you. 

In recompense I would show future times 

What you were, and teach them to urge towards 
such. 
Verse embalms virtue ; and tombs or thrones of 
rhymes 
Preserve frail transitory fame, as much 
As spice doth bodies from corrupt air's touch. 



—scarce true, 



This bravery is since these times showed me, you. 



EPISTLES. 27 

Mine are short-lived ; the tincture of your name 
Creates in them, but dissipates as fast, 

New spirit ; for strong agents with the same 
Force, that doth warm and cherish us, do waste ; 
Kept hot with strong extracts no bodies last. 

So my verse, built of your just praise, might want 
Reason and likelihood, the firmest base, 

And, made of miracle, now faith is scant, 
"Will vanish soon, and so possess no place ; 
And you and it too much grace might disgrace. 

When all (as truth commands assent) confess 
All truth of you, yet they will doubt how I 

(One corn of one low ant-hill's dust, and less) 
Should name, know, or express a thing so high. 
And (not an inch) measure infinity. 

I cannot tell them, nor myself, nor you. 

But leave, lest truth be endangered by my 
praise, 

And turn to God, who knows I think this true, 
And useth oft, when such a heart missays, 
To make it good ; for such a praiser prays. 

He will best teach you, how you should lay out 
His stock of beauty, learning, favour, blood ; 

He will perplex security with doubt. 

And clear those doubts ; hide from you, and 

show you good, 
And so increase your appetite and food. 



i 



28 EPISTLES. 

He will teach you that good and bad have not 
One latitude in cloisters and in court ; 

Indiflferent* there the greatest space hath got ; 
Some pity 's Hot good there, some vain disport, 
On this side sin, with that place may comport. 

Yet he, as he bounds seas, will fix your hours. 
Which pleasure and delight may not ingress ; 

And though what none else lost, be truliest yours. 
He will make you, what you did not, possess. 
By using other's (not vice, but) weakness. 

He will make you speak truths, and credibly. 
And make you doubt that others do not so ; 

He will provide you keys and locks, to spy. 
And scape spies ; to good ends; and he will show 
"What you mayt not acknowledge, what not 
know. 

For your own conscience he gives innocence, 
But for your fame a discreet wariness. 

And (though to 'scape than to revenge offence 
Be better) he shows both, and to repress 
Joy, when your state swells, sadness, when 'tis less. 

From need of tears he will defend your soul. 
Or make a rebaptizing of one tear ; 

He cannot (that 's, he will not) disenroll 

Your name ; and when with active joy we hear 

This private gospel, then 't is our new year. 

* Indifference. (?) t Var. wiU. 



29 



TO THE COUNTESS OF HUNTES^GDOX. 

Madam, 
Man to God's image, Eve to mail's was made. 

Nor find we that God breathed a soul in her ; 
Canons will not church-functions you invade, 

Nor laws to civil office you prefer. 

Who vagrant transitory comets sees, 

Wonders because they 're rare ; but a new star 
Whose motion with the firmament agrees, 

Is miracle; for there no new things are. 

In woman so perchance mild innocence 
A seldom comet is ; but active good 

A miracle, which reason scapes and sense ; 
For Art and Nature this in them withstood. 

As such a star the Magi led to view 
The manger-cradled infant, God below, 

By virtue's beams (by fame derived from you) 
May apt souls, and the worst may virtue know. 

If the world's age and death be argued well 
By the sun's fall, which now towards earth doth 
bend. 

Then we might fear that virtue, since she fell 
So low as woman, should be near her end. 



30 EPISTLES. 

But she 's not stooped, but raised ; exiled by men, 
She fled to heaven, that's heavenly things, that 's 

She was in all men thinly scattered then [you ; 
But now a mass contracted in a few. 

She gilded us, but you are gold ; and she 
Informed us, but transubstantiates you : 

Soft dispositions, which ductile be. 
Elixir-like, she makes not clean, but new. 

Though you a wife's and mother's name retain, 
'Tis not as woman, for all are not so ; 

But virtue, having made you virtue, is fain 
To adhere in these names, her and you to show. 

Else, being alike pure, we should neither see, 

As water being into air rarefied. 
Neither appear, till in one cloud they be. 

So for our sakes you do low names abide. 

Taught by great constellations, (which, being 
framed 

Of the most stars, take low names Crab and Bull, 
When single planets by the gods are named) 

You covet not great names, of great things full. 

So you, as woman, one doth comprehend. 
And in the veil* of kindred others see ; 

To some you are revealed, as in a friend. 
And as a virtuous prince far off, to me. 

* Var. vale. 



EPISTLES. 31 

To whom, because from you all virtues flow, 
And 'tis not none to dare contemplate you, 

I, which do so,* as your true subject owe 

Some tribute for that ; so these lines are due. 

If you can think these flatteries, they are ; 

For then your judgment is below my praise ; 
If they were so, oft flatteries work as far 

As counsels, and as far the endeavour raise. 

So my ill, reaching you, might there grow good, 
But I remain a poisoned fountain still ; 

But not your beauty, virtue, knowledge, blood 
Are more above all flattery than my will. 

And if I flatter any, 'tis not you. 

But my own judgment, who did long ago 

Pronounce that all these praises should be true, 
And virtue should your beauty and birth out- 
grow. 

Now that my prophecies are all fulfilled. 

Rather than God should not be honoured too. 

And all these gifts confessed, which he instilled. 
Yourself were bound to say that which I do. 

So I but your recorder am in this. 

Or mouth, and speaker of the universe, 

A ministerial notary ; for 'tis 

Not I, but you and fame, that make this verse, 

* Var. to you. Ed. 1633. 



32 EPISTLES. 

I was your prophet in your younger days, 
And now your chaplain, God in you to praise. 



TO MR. I. W. 

All hail, sweet Poet, more full of more strong 
fire. 
Than hath or shall enkindle any spirit ! * 
I loved what nature gave thee ; but thy merit 

Of wit and art I love not, but admire ; 

Who have before or shall write after thee, 

Their works, though toughly laboured, will be 
Like infancy or age to man's firm stay. 
Or early and late twilights to mid-day. 

Men say, and truly, that they better be. 
Which be envied than pitied ; tjierefore I, 
Because I wish thee best, do thee envy : 
O would' st thou by like reason pity me. 
But care not for me, I, that ever was 
In Nature's and in Fortune's gifts, alas ! 

(Before by thy grace got in the Muse's school) 
, am a fool. 

* Var and full of more strong fire 

Than hath or shall enkindle my dull spirit. Ed. 1635. 



EPISTLES. 33 

Oh how I grieve, that late-born modesty 
Hath got such root in easy waxen hearts, 
That men may not themselves their own good 
parts 

Extol, without suspect of surquedry ; 

For, but thyself, no subject can be found 

Worthy thy quill, nor any quill resound 

Thy worth but thine : how good it were to see 
A poem in thy praise, and writ by thee ! 

Now if this song be too harsh for rhyme, yet as 
The painter's bad god made a good devil, 
'Twill be good prose, although the verse be evil. 
If thou forget the rhyme, as thou dost pass. 
Then write, that I may follow, and so be 
Thy echo, thy debtor, thy foil, thy zany. 

I shall be thought (if mine like thine I shape) 
All the world's lion, though I be thy ape. 



TO MR. T. W. 

Haste thee, harsh verse, as fast as thy lame 
measure 

Will give thee leave, to him ; my pain and plea- 
sure 

I 've given thee, (and yet thou art too weak,) 

Feet and a reasoning soul, and tongue to speak. 
3 



34 EPISTLES. 

Tell him all questions, which men have defended 
Both of the place and pains of hell are ended ; 
And 'tis decreed, our hell is but privation 
Of him, at least in this earth's habitation : 
And 't is where I am, where in every street 
Infections follow, overtake and meet. 
Live I or die, by you my love is sent ; 
You are my pawns, or else my Testament. 



TO MR. T. W. 

Pregnant again with the old twins, Hope and 

Fear, 
Oft have I asked for thee, both how and where 
Thou wert, and what my hopes of letters were ; 

As in our streets sly beggars narrowly 
Watch motions of the giver's hand or eye, 
And evermore conceive some hope thereby. 

And now thy alms is given, thy letter 's read, 
The body risen again, the which was dead. 
And thy poor starveling bountifully fed. 

After this banquet my soul doth say grace. 
And praise thee for 't, and zealously embrace 



EPISTLES. 35 

Thy love ; though I think thy love in this case 
To be as gluttons', which say 'midst their meat, 
Tliey love that best, of which they most do eat. 



INCERTO. 

At once from hence my lines and I depart, 
I to my soft still walks, they to my heart ; 
I to the nurse, they to the child of art. 

Yet as a firm house, though the carpenter 
Perish, doth stand ; as an ambassador 
Lies safe, howe'er his king be in danger, 

So, though I languish, pressed with melancholy, 
My verse, the strict map of my misery. 
Shall live to see that, for whose want I die. 

Therefore I envy them, and do repent. 

That from unhappy me things happy are sent ; 

Yet as a picture, or bare sacrament. 

Accept these lines, and if in them there be 
Merit of love, bestow that love on me. 



36 EPISTLES. 



TO MR. C. B.* 



Thy friend, whom thy deserts to thee enchain, 
Urged by this unexcusable occasion, 
Thee and the saint of his affection 

Leaving behind, doth of both wants complain ; 

And let the love I bear to both sustain 
No blot nor maim by this division ; 
Strong is this love, which ties our hearts in one. 

And strong that love pursued with amorous pain : 

But though beside thyself I leave behind 
Heaven's liberal and earth's thrice-fair sun, 
Going to where starved! winter aye doth won ; 

Yet love's hot fires, which martyr my sad mind. 
Do send forth scalding sighs which have the art 
To melt all ice, but that which walls her heart. 



TO MR. S. B. 

O THOU, which to search out the secret parts 

Of the India, or rather paradise 

Of knowledge, hast with courage and advice 
Lately launched into the vast sea of arts, 

* This and the following poem are probably addressed to 
Mr. Christopher Brook, and his brother Samuel. See Wal- 
ton's life of Donne. 

t Var. stern. 



EPISTLES. 37 

Disdain not in thy constant travelling 
To do as other voyagers, and make 
Some turns into less creeks, and wisely take 

Fresh, water at the Heliconian spring. 

I sing not Siren-like to tempt ; for I 

Am harsh ; nor as those schismatics with you, 
Which draw all wits of good hope to their crew ; 

But seeing in you bright sparks of poetry, 
I, though I brought no fuel, had desire 

With these articulate blasts to blow the fire. 



TO MR. B. B. 

Is not thy sacred hunger of science 

Yet satisfied ? is not thy brain's rich hive 
Fulfilled with honey, which thou dost derive 

From the art's spirits and their quintessence ? 

Then wean thyself at last, and thee withdraw 
From Cambridge, thy old nurse ; and, as the rest, 
Here toughly chew and sturdily digest 

The immense vast volumes of our common law ; 

And begin soon, lest my grief grieve thee too, 
Which is that that, which I should have begun 
In my youth's morning, now late must be done ; 

And I, as giddy travellers must do. 

Which stray or sleep all day, and having lost 
Light and strength, dark and tired must then 
ride post. 



38 EPISTLES. 

If thou unto thy Muse be married, 

Embrace her ever, ever multiply ; 

Be far from me that strange adultery 
To tempt thee, and procure her widowhood ; 
My Muse* (for I had one) because I 'm cold, 

Divorced herself, the cause being in me ; 

That I can take no new in bigamy. 
Not my will only, but power doth withhold ; 
Hence comes it that these rhymes, which never had 

Mother, want matter ; and they only have 

A little form, the which their father gave : 
They are profane, imperfect, oh ! too bad 

To be counted children of poetry. 

Except confirmed and bishoped by thee. 



TO MR. R. W. 

If, as mine is, thy life a slumber be. 

Seem, when thou read'st these lines, to dream of 

me; 
Never did Morpheus, nor his brother, wear 
Shapes so like those shapes, whom they would 

appear. 
As this my letter is like me ; for it [wit ; 

Hath my name, words, hand, feet, heart, mind and 

* All the Editions read nurse. The alteration in the text 
(clearly the true reading) is suggested by the Eev. H. Alford 
in his edition. 



EPISTLES. 39 

It is my deed of gift of me to thee, 

It is my will, myself the legacy. 

So thy retirings I love, yea, envy, 

Bred in thee by a wise melancholy, 

That I rejoice that, unto where thou art. 

Though I stay here, I can thus send my heart. 

As kindly as any enamoured patient 

His picture to his absent love hath sent. 

All news I think sooner reach thee than me ; 

Havens are heavens, and ships winged angels be, 

The which both gospel and stern threateniugs 

bring ; 
Guiana's harvest is nipt in the spring, 
I fear ; and with us (methinks) Fate deals so, 
As with the Jew's guide God did ; he did show 
Him the rich land, but barred his entry in : 
Our slowness is our punishment and sin. 
Perchance, these Spanish businesses being done, 
(Which, as the earth between the moon and sun, 
Echpse the light which Guiana would give.) 
Our discontinued hopes we shall retrieve : 
But if (as all the all must) hopes smoke away. 
Is not almighty Virtue an India ? 

If men be worlds, there is in every one 
Something to answer in some proportion 
All the world's riches : and in good men this 
Virtue our form's form, and our soul's soul is. 



40 EPISTLES. 



TO MR. I L. 



Op that short roll of friends writ in my heart, 

Which with thy name begins, since their depart, 

Whether in the English provinces they be, 

Or drink of Po, Sequan or Danuby, 

There 's none, that sometimes greets us not ; and yet 

Your Trent is Lethe, that past, us you forget. 

You do not duties of societies. 

If from the embrace of a loved wife you rise. 

View your fat beasts, stretched barns, and laboured 

fields. 
Eat, play, ride, take all joys, which all day yields. 
And then again to your embracements go ; 
Some hours on us your friends, and some bestow 
Upon your Muse ; else both we shall repent, 
I, that my love ; she, that her gifts on you are spent. 



TO MR. I. P. 

Blest are your North parts, for all this long time 
My sun is with you, cold and dark 's our clime. 
Heaven's sun, which stayed so long from us this 
year, 



EPISTLES. 41 

Stayed in your i^ortli (I think) for she was there, 
And hither by kind Nature drawn from thence. 
Here rages, chafes and threatens pestilence ; 
Yet I, as long as she from hence doth stay. 
Think this no South, no summer, nor no day. 
"With thee my kind and unkind heart is run, 
There sacrifice it to that beauteous sun : 
So may thy pastures with their flowery feasts, 
As suddenly as lard, fat thy lean beasts ; 
So may thy woods oft polled yet ever wear 
A green, and (when she* list) a golden hair ; 
So may all thy sheep bring forth twins ; and so 
In chase and race may thy horse all out-go ; 
So may thy love and courage ne'er be cold ; 
Thy son ne'er ward ; thy loved wife ne'er seem old ; 
But may'st thou wish great things, and them attain, 
As thou tell'st her, and none but her, my pain. 



TO THE EARL OF DOXC ASTER WITH SIX 
HOLY SONNETS. 

See, Sir, how as the sun's hot masculine flame 
Begets strange creatures on Nile's dirty slime. 
In me your fatherly yet lusty rhyme 
(For these songs are their fruits) have wrought 
the same ; 



42 EPISTLES. 

But though the engendering force, from whence they 
came, 
Be strong enough, and nature doth admit 
Seven to be born at once, I send as yet 
But six; they say the seventh hath still some 
maim : 
I choose your judgment, which the same degree 
Doth with her sister, your invention, hold. 
As fire these drossy rhymes to purify. 

Or as elixir to change them to gold ; 
You are that alchemist, which always had 
Wit, whose one spark could make goods things of 
bad. 



TO SIR HENRY WOTTON, AT HIS GOING 
AMBASSADOR TO VENICE. 

After those reverend papers, whose soul is 
Our good and great king's loved hand and feared 
name, 

By which to you he derives much of his, 

And (how he may) makes you almost the same, 

A taper of his torch, a copy writ 

From his original, and a fair beam 
Of the same warm and dazzling sun, though it 

Must in another sphere his virtue stream ; 



EPISTLES. 43 

After those learned papers, which your hand 
Hath stored with notes of use and pleasure too, 

From which rich treasury you may command 
Fit matter, whether you will write or do ; 

After those loving papers, where friends send. 
With glad grief to your sea-ward steps, farewell. 

Which thicken on you now, as prayers ascend 
To heaven in troops at a good man's passing-bell ; 

Admit this honest paper, and allow 

It-.such an audience as yourself would ask ; 

What you must say at Venice, this means now, 
And hath for nature, what you have for task, — 

To swear much love, not to be changed before 
Honour alone will to your fortune fit ; 

Nor shall I then honor your fortune more, 
Than I have done your honour wanting it.* 

But 't is an easier load (though both oppress) 
To want than govern greatness ; for we are 

In that, our own and only business ; 
In this, we must for other's vices care. 

'T is therefore well your spirits now are placed 
In their last furnace, in activity ; 

* Var. noble -wanting wit. Ed. 1635. 



44 EPISTLES. 

Which fits them (schools and courts and wars 
o'erpast) 
To touch and test in any best degree. 

For me, (if there be such a thing as I) 
Fortune (if there be such a thing as she) 

Spies that I bear so well her tyranny, 
That she thinks nothing else so fit for me. 

But though she part us, to hear my oft prayers 
For your increase, God is as near me here ; 

And to send you what I shall beg, his stairs 
In length and ease are alike everywhere. 



TO MRS. M. H. 

Mad paper, stay, and grudge not here to burn 
With all those sons, whom thy brain did create ; 
At least lie hid with me, till thou return 
To rags again, which is thy native state. 

What though thou have enough unworthiness 
To come unto great place as others do. 

That 's much ; emboldens, pulls, thrusts, I confess ; 
But 't is not all, thou shouldst be wicked too. 



EPISTLES. 45 

And that thou canst not learn, or not of me ; 

Yet thou wilt go ; go, since thou goest to her 
Who lacks but faults to be a prince, for she 

Truth, whom they dare not pardon, dares prefer. 

But when thou com'st to that perplexing eye, 
Which equally claims love and reverence. 

Thou wilt not long dispute it, thou wilt die, 
And having little now, have then no sense. 

Yet when her warm redeeming hand (which is 
A miracle, and made such to work more) 

Doth touch thee (sapless leaf) thou grow'st by this 
Her creature, glorified more than before. 

Then, as a mother which delights to hear 
Her early child misspeak half-uttered words, 

Or, because majesty doth never fear 
111 or bold speech, she audience affords. 

And then, cold speechless wretch, thou diest again. 

And wisely ; what discourse is left for thee ? 
From speech of ill and her thou must abstain. 

And is there any good which is not she ? 

[her; 
Yet may'st thou praise her servants, though not 

And Wit and Virtue and Honor her attend, 
And since they 're but her clothes, thou shalt not 
err, [mend. 

If thou her shape and beauty and grace com- 



46 EPISTLES. 

Who knows thy destiny ? when thou hast done, 
Perchance her cabinet may harbour thee, 

Whither all noble ambitious wits do run, 
A nest almost as full of good as she. 

When thou art there, if any, whom we know. 
Were saved before, and did that heaven partake, 

When she revolves his papers, mark what show 
Of favour she, alone, to them doth make. 

Mark if, to get them, she o'erskip the rest ; 

Mark if she read them twice, or kiss the name ; 
Mark if she do the same that they protest ; 

Mark if she mark whither her woman came. 

Mark if slight things be objected, and o'erblown; 

Mark if her oaths against him be not still 
Reserved, and that she grieve she 's not her own, 

And chides the doctrine that denies free-will. 

I bid thee not do this to be my spy, 

Nor to make myself her familiar ; 
But so much I do love her choice, that I 

Would fain love him, that shall be loved of her. 



47 



TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

Honour is so sublime perfection, 

And so refined, that when God was alone, 

And creatureless at first, himself had none ; 

But as of the elements these which we tread, 
Produce all things with which we 're joyed or fed. 
And those are barren both above our head, 

So from low persons doth all honour flow ; 
Kings, whom they would have honoured, to us show, 
And but direct our honour, not bestow. 

For when from herbs the pure part must be won 
From gross by stilling, this is better done 
By despised dung, than by the fire or sun : 

Care not then. Madam, how low your praises lie ; 
In labourers' ballads oft more piety 
God finds, than in Te DeurrCs melody ; 

And ordnance raised on towers so many mile 
Send not their voice, nor last so long a while, 
As fires from the earth's low vaults in Sicil isle. 

Should I say I lived darker than were true. 

Your radiation can all clouds subdue 

But one ; 't is best light to contemplate you, — 



48 EPISTLES. 

You, for whose body God made better clay, 
Or took soul's stuff, such as shall late decay, 
Or such as needs small change at the last day. 

This, as an amber drop enwraps a bee. 
Covering discovers your quick soul ; that we 
May in your through-shine front our heart's 
thought se<3. 

You teach (though we learn not) a thing unknown 
To our late times, the use of specular stone. 
Through which all things within without were 
shown. 

Of such were temples ; so, and such you are ; 

Being and seeming is your equal care ; 

And Virtue's whole sum is but Know and Dare. 

Discretion is a wise man's soul, and so 
Religion is a christian's, and you know 
How these are one ; her yea is not her no. 

But, as our souls of growth and souls of sense 
Have birthright of our reason's soul, yet hence 
They fly not from that, nor seek precedence. 

Nature's first lesson so, Discretion, 

Must not grudge Zeal a place, nor yet keep none. 

Not banish itself, nor Religion. 



EPISTLES. 49 

Nor may we hope to solder still and knit 

These two, and dare to break them ; nor must wit 

Be colleague to Religion, but be it. 

In those poor types of God (round circles) so 
Religion's types the pieceless centres flow, 
And are in all the lines which all ways go. 

If either ever w^rought in you alone, 

Or principally, then Religion 

Wrought your ends, and your ways Discretion. 

Go thither still, go the same way you went ; 
Whoso would change, doth covet or repent ; 
Neither can reach you, great and innocent. 



TO THE COUNTESS OF HUNTINGDON. 

That unripe side of earth, that heavy clime 
That gives us man up now, like Adam's time 
Before he ate ; man's shape, that would yet be 
(Knew they not it, and feared beasts' company) 
So naked at this day, as though man there 
From paradise so great a distance were, 
As yet the news could not arrived be 
Of Adam's tasting the forbidden tree ; 
4 



50 EPISTLES. 

Deprived of that free state which they were in, 
And wanting the reward, yet bear the sin. 

But, as from extreme heights who downward 

looks, 
Sees men at children's shapes, rivers at brooks, 
And loseth younger forms, so to your eye 
These (Madam) 'that without your distance lie, 
Must either mist, or nothing seem to be. 
Who are at home but wit's mere Atomi. 
But I, who can behold them move and stay. 
Have found myself to you just their midway ; 
And now must pity them ; for as they do 
Seem sick to me, just so must I to you ; 
Yet neither will I vex your eyes to see 
A sighing ode, nor cross-armed elegy. • 
I come not to call pity from your heart, 
Like some white-livered dotard, that would part 
Else from his slippery soul with a faint groan, 
And faithfully (without you smile) were gone. 
I cannot feel the tempest of a frown, 
I may be raised by love, but not thrown down ; 
Though I can pity those sigh twice a day, 
I hate that thing whispers itself away. 
Yet since all love is fever, who to trees 
Doth talk, doth yet in love's cold ague freeze. 
'Tis love but with such fatal weakness made. 
That it destroys itself with its own shade. 
Who first looked sad, grieved, pined and 

showed his pain. 
Was he that first taught women to disdain. 



EPISTLES. 51 

As all things were one nothing, dull and weak, 
Until this raw disordered heap did break, 
And several desires led parts away, 
Water declined with earth, the air did stay, 
Fire rose, and each from other but untied, 
Themselves unprisoned were and purified ; 
So was Love first in vast confusion hid, 
An unripe willingness which nothing did, 
A thirst, an appetite which had no ease, 
That found a want, but knew not what would please. 
What pretty innocence in those days moved ! 
Man ignorantly walked by her he loved ; 
Both sighed and interchanged a speaking eye, 
Both trembled and were sick, both knew not why. 
That natural fearfulness, that struck man dumb. 
Might well (those times considered) man become. 
As all discoverers, whose first essay 
Finds but the place, after, the nearest way ; 
So passion is to woman's love, about, 
Nay, farther off, than when we first set out. 
It is not love, that sues or doth contend ; 
Love either conquers, or but meets a friend. 
Man's better part consists of purer fire, 
And finds itself allowed, ere it desire. 
Love is wise here, keeps home, gives reason sway. 
And journeys not till it find summer-way ; 
A weather-beaten lover, but once known. 
Is sport for every girl to practise on. [know, 

Who strives through woman's scorns women to 
Is lost, and seeks his shadow to outgo ; 



52 EPISTLES. 

It must be sickness,* after one disdain, 
Though he be called aloud, to look again. 
Let others sin and grieve ; one cunning sleight 
Shall freeze my love to crystal in a night. 
I can love first, and (if I win) love still, 
And cannot be removed, unless she will. 
It is her fault, if I unsure remain ; 
She only can untie, I bind again. 
The honesties of love with ease I do, 
But am no porter for a tedious woe. 

But (Madam) I now think on you ; and here, 
"Where we are at our heights, you but appear ; 
"VYe are but clouds, you rise from our noon-ray. 
But a foul shadow, not your break of day. 
You are at first hand all that 's fair and right, 
And other's good reflects but back your light. 
You are a perfectness, so curious hit, 
That youngest flatteries do scandal it ; 
For what is more doth what you are restrain ; 
And though beyond, is down the hill again. 
We have no next way to you, we cross to *t ; 
You are the straight line, thing praised, attribute ; 
Each good in you 's a light ; so many a shade 
You make, and in them are your motions made. 
These are your pictures to the life. From far 
We see you move, and here your zanies are ; 
So that no fountain good there is doth grow 
In you, but our dim actions faintly show : 

* Var. it is mere sickness. 



EPISTLES. 53 

Then find I, if man's noblest part be Love, 
Your purest lustre must that shadow move. 
The soul with body is a heaven combined 
With earth, and for man's ease but nearer joined. 
Where thoughts, the stars of soul, we understand, 
AYe guess not their large natures, but command. 
And love in you that bounty is of light, 
That gives to all, and yet hath infinite ; 
Whose heat doth force us thither to intend, 
But soul we find too earthly to ascend ; 
'Till slow access hath made it wholly pure. 
Able immortal clearness to endure. 
Who dare aspire this journey with a stain, 
Hath weight will force him headlong back again ; 
No more can impure man retain and move 
In that pure region of a worthy love, 
Than earthly substance can unforced aspire, 
And leave his nature to converse with fire. 

Such may have eye and hand ; may sigh, may 
speak ; 
But like swoln bubbles, when they are highest, they 

break. 
Though far removed Northern fleets* scarce find 
The sun's comfort, oihersf think him too kind. 
There is an equal distance from her eye ; 
Men perish too far-ofi^, and burn too nigh. 
But as air takes the sunbeams equal-bright 
From the first rays to his last opposite, 

* Var. isles. t Va''^- yet some. 



54 



So able* men, blest with a virtuous love, 

Remote or near, or howsoe'er they move. 

Their virtue breaks all clouds, that might annoy ; 

There is no emptiness, but all is joy. 

He much profanes (whom valiant heats do move) 

To style his wandering rage of passion love. 

Love, that impartsf in every thing delight. 

Is fancied by the soul, not appetite ; 

Why love among the virtues is not known. 

Is, that love is them all contract in one. 



A DIALOGUE BETWEEN SIR HENRY WOT- 
TON, AND MR. DONNE. 

If her disdain least change in you can move. 
You do not love ; 
For when that hope gives fuel to the fire, 
You sell desire. 
Love is not love, but given free ; 
And so is mine, so should yours be. 

Her heart, that melts to hear of others' moan, 
To mine is stone ; 

Her eyes, that weep a stranger's eyes to see, 
Joy to wound me : 

* Var. happy. t ^^<^''^' imports. 



EPISTLES. 55 

Yet I so well affect each part, 

As (caused by them) I love my smart. 

Say her disdainings justly must be graced 

With name of chaste ; 
And that she frowns, lest longing should exceed. 
And raging breed ; 
So her disdains can ne'er offend, 
Unless self-love take private end. 

'Tis love breeds love in me, and cold disdain 
Kills that again ; 
As water causeth fire to fret and fume, 

Till all consume. 
Who can of love more rich gift make. 
Than to Love's self for Love's own sake ; 

I '11 never dig in quarry of a heart, 

To have no part ; 
Nor roast in fiery eyes, which always are 
Canicular. 
Who this way would a lover prove, 
May show his patience, not his love. 

A frown may be sometimes for physic good. 
But not for food ; 
And for that raging humour there is sure 
A gentler cure. 
Why bar you love of private end, 
Which never should to public tend ? 



^6 



TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

BEGUN IN FRANCE, BUT NEVER PERFECTED. 

Though I be dead and buried, yet I have 

(Living in you) court enough in my grave ; 

As oft as there I think myself to be, 

So many resurrections waken me ; 

That thankfulness your favours have begot 

In me, embalms me that I do not rot : 

This season, as 'tis Easter, as 'tis spring, 

Must both to growth and to confession bring 

My thoughts disposed unto your influence ; so 

These verses bud, so these confessions grow ; 

First I confess I have to others lent 

Your stock, and over-prodigally spent 

Your treasure, for since I had never known 

Virtue and beauty, but as they are grown 

In you, I should not think or say they shine, 

(So as I have) in any other mine ; 

Next I confess this my confession ; 

For 'tis some fault thus much to touch upon 

Your praise to you, where half-rights, seem too 

much 
And make your mind's sincere complexion blush. 



EPISTLES. 57 

Next I confess my impenitence ; for I 
Can scarce repent my first fault, since thereby 
Remote low spirits, which shall ne'er read you, 
May in less lessons find enough to do. 
By studying copies, not originals ; 
Desunt ccetera. 



A LETTER TO THE LADY CAEY, AND 
MRS. ESSEX RICH, FROM ATHENS. 

Mada^i. 
Here, where by all All-saints invoked are, 
'T were too much schism to be singular, 
And 'gainst good practice general to war. 

Yet turning to saints, should my humility 
To other saint than you directed be. 
That were to make my schism heresy. 

Nor would I be a convertite so cold. 
As net to tell it ; if this be too bold. 
Pardons are in this market cheaply sold. 

Where, because faith is in too low degree, 

I thought it some apostleship in me 

To speak things, which by faith alone I see ; 



58 EPISTLES. 

That is, of you, who are a firmament 

Of virtues, where no one is grown or spent ; 

They are your materials, not your ornament. 

Others, whom we call virtuous, are not so 
In their whole substance ; but their virtues 

grow 
But in their humours, and at seasons show. 

For when through tasteless flat humility 

In dough-baked men some harmlessness we see, 

'Tis but his phlegm that 's virtuous, and not he : 

So is the blood sometimes ; who ever ran 
To danger unimportuned, he was than 
No better than a sanguine-virtuous man. 

So cloisteral men, who, in pretence of fear, 
All contributions to this life forbear, 
Have virtue in melancholy, and only there. 

Spiritual choleric critics, which in all 
Religions find faults, and forgive no fall, 
Have through this zeal virtue but in their gall. 

"We are thus but parcel-gilt; to gold we are 

grown, 
"When virtue is our soul's complexion ; 
"Who knows his virtue's name or place, hath 

none. 



EPISTLES. 59 

Virtue 's but aguish,* when 'tis several, 
By occasion waked and circumstantial ; 
True Virtue is soul, always in all deeds All. 

This virtue thinking to give dignity 
To your soul, found there no infirmity ; 
For your soul was as good Virtue as she. 

She therefore wrought upon that part of you, 
Which is scarce less than soul, as she could do, 
And so hath made your beauty virtue too. 

Hence comes it, that your beauty wounds not 

hearts. 
As others, with profane and sensual darts, 
But as an influence virtuous thoughts imparts. 

But if such friends by the honour of your sight 

Grow capable of this so great a light. 

As to partake your virtues and their might, 

"What must I think that influence must do, 
"Where, it finds sympathy and matter too. 
Virtue and beauty of the same stuff as you ? 

"Which is your noble worthy sister ; she, 
Of whom, if what in this my ecstasy 
And revelation of you both I see, 

* Var. anguish. 



60 EPISTLES. 

I should write here, (as in short galleries 
The master at the end large glasses ties, 
So to present the room twice to our eyes,) 

So I should give this letter length, and say- 
That which I said of you ; there is no way 
From either, but by* the other, not to stray. 

May therefore this be enough to testify 
My true devotion, free from flattery ; 
He that believes himself, doth never lie. 



TO THE COUNTESS OF SALISBURY. 

AUGUST, 1614. 

Fair, great, and good, since seeing you we see 
What Heaven can do, what any earth can be ; 
Since now your beauty shines, now when the sun, 
Grown stale, is to so low a value run. 
That his dishevelled beams and scattered fires 
Serve but for ladies' periwigs and tiars 
In lover's sonnets ; you come to repair 
God's book of creatures, teaching what is fair. 



EPISTLES. 61 

Since now, when all is withered, shrunk and dried. 

All virtues ebbed out to a dead-low tide, 

All the world's frame being crumbled into sand. 

Where every man thinks by himself to stand, 

Integrity, friendship and confidence, 

(Cements of greatness) being vapoured hence. 

And narrow man being filled with little shares, 

Courts, city, church, are all shops of small- wares, 

All having blown to sparks their noble fire, 

And drawn their sound gold ingot into wire, 

All trying by a love of littleness 

To make abridgments and to draw to less 

Even that nothing which at first we were ; 

Since in these times your greatness doth appear. 

And that we learn by it that Man, to get 

Towards him that 's infinite, must first be great ; 

Since in an age so ill, as none is fit 

So much as to accuse, much less mend it, 

(For who can judge or witness of those times, 

Where all alike are guilty of the crimes ? 

Where he, that would be good, is thought by all 

A monster, or at best fantastical ?) 

Since now you durst be good, and that I do 

Discern, by daring to contemplate you, 

That there may be degrees of fair, great, good. 

Through your light, largeness, virtue, understood ; 

If, in this sacrifice of mine, be shown 

Any small spark of these, call it your own ; 

And if things like these have been said by me 

Of others, call not that idolatry. 



62 EPISTLES. 

For had God made man first, and man had seen 
The third day's fruits and flowers, and various 

green, 
He might have said the best that he could say 
Of those fair creatures which were made that day ; 
And when next day he had admired the birth 
Of sun, moon, stars, fairer than late praised earth, 
He might have said the best that he could say, 
And not be chid for praising yesterday ; 
So, though some things are not together true, 
As, that another is worthiest, and that you, 
Yet to say so doth not condemn a man, 
If, when he spoke them, they were both true than. 
How fair a proof of this in our soul grows ! 
We first have souls of growth, and sense ; and those, 
"When our last soul, our soul immortal, came, 
"Were swallowed into it and have no name ; 
Nor doth he injure those souls, which doth cast 
The power and praise of both them on the last ; 
No more do I wrong any ; I adore 
The same things now, which I adored before. 
The subject changed, and measure ; the same thing 
In a low constable and in the king 
I reverence, — his power to work on me ; 
So did I humbly reverence each degree 
Of fair, great, good ; but more now I am come 
From having found their walks, to find their home. 
And, as I owe my first soul's thanks, that they 
For my last soul did fit and mould my clay. 
So am I debtor unto them whose worth 
Enabled me to profit, and take forth 



EPISTLES. 63 

This new great lesson, thus to study you, 
Which none, not reading others first, could do. 
Nor lack I light to read this book, though I 
In a dark cave, yea, in a grave do lie ; 
For as your fellow-angels, so you do 
Illustrate them who come to study you. 
The first, whom we in histories do find 
To have professed all arts, was one born blind : 
He lacked those eyes beasts have as well as we, 
Not those by which angels are seen and see ; 
So, though I am born without those eyes to live, 
Which Fortune, who hath none herself, doth give. 
Which are fit means to see bright courts and you. 
Yet may I see you thus, as now I do ; 
I shall by that all goodness have discerned, 
And, though I burn my library, be learned. 



TO THE LADY BEDFORD. 

You that are she and you, that 's double she, 
In her dead face half of yourself shall see ; 
She was the other part ; for so they do. 
Which build them friendships, become one of two ; 
So two, that but themselves no third can fit. 
Which were to be so, when they were not yet 
Twins, though their birth Cuzco and Moscow take, 
As divers stars one constellation make, 



64 EPISTLES. 

Paired like two eyes, have equal motion, so 
Both but one means to see, one way to go. 
Had you died first, a carcase she had been. 
And we your rich tomb in her face had seen. 
She like the soul is gone, and you here stay, 
Not a live friend, but the other half of clay ; 
And since you act that part, as men say, here 
Lies such a prince, when but one part is there, 
And do all honour and devotion due 
Unto the whole, so we all reverence you ; 
For such a friendship w^ho would not adore 
In you, who are all what both were before ? 
Not all, as if some perished by this. 
But so, as all in you contracted is ; 
As of this all though many parts decay, 
The pure, which elemented them, shall stay. 
And though diffused and spread in infinite, 
Shall recollect, and in one all unite : 
So Madam, as her soul to heaven is fled. 
Her flesh rests in the earth, as in the bed ; 
Her virtues do, as to their proper sphere, 
Return to dwell with you, of whom they were ; 
As perfect motions are all circular. 
So they to you, their sea, whence less streams are. 
She was all spices, you all metals ; so 
In you two we did both rich Indias know. 
And as no fire nor rust can spend or waste 
One dram of gold, but what was first shall last, 
Though it be forced in water, earth, salt, air, 
Expansed in infinite, none will impair. 



65 



So to yourself you may additions take, 
But nothing can you less or changed make. 
Seek not, in seeking new, to seem to doubt 
That you can match her, or not be without ; 
But let some faithful book in her room be, 
Yet but of Judith, jio such book as she. 



SAPPHO TO PHILiENIS. 

Where is that holy fire, which verse is said 
To have ?*is that enchanting force decayed ? 
Verse, that draws nature's works from nature's law, 
Thee, her best work, to her work cannot draw. 
Have my tears quenched my old poetic fire ? 
Why quenched they not as well that of desire ? 
Thoughts, my mind's creatures, often are with thee, 
But I, their maker, want their liberty : 
Only thine image in my heart doth sit ; 
But that is wax, and fires environ it. 
My fires have driven, thine have drawn it hence, 
And I am robbed of picture, heart, and sense. 
Dwells with me still mine irksome memory. 
Which both to keep and lose grieves equally. 
That tells how fair thou art ; thou art so fair, 
As gods, when gods to thee I do compare. 
Are graced thereby ; and to make blind men see, 
What things gods are, I say they are like to thee. 
5 



66 EPISTLES. 

For if we justly call each silly man 

A little world, what shall we call thee than ? 

Thou art not soft, and clear, and straight, and fair, 

As down, as stars, cedars and lilies are ; 

But thy right hand, and cheek, and eye only 

Are like thy other hand, and cheek, and eye. 

Such was my Phao awhile, but shall be never 

As thou wast, art, and, oh ! may'st thou be ever ! 

Here lovers swear in their idolatry. 

That I am such ; but grief discolours me : 

And yet I grieve the less, lest grief remove 

My beauty, and make me unworthy of thy love. 

Plays some soft boy with thee? oh ! there wants yet 

A mutual feeling, which should sweeteii it. 

His chin a thorny hairy unevenness 

Doth threaten, and some daily change possess. 

Thy body is a natural paradise. 

In whose self, unmanured, all pleasure lies. 

Nor needs perfection ; why should'st thou then 

Admit the tillage of a harsh rough man? 

Men leave behind them that, which their sin shows. 

And are as thieves traced, which rob when it snows ; 

But of our dalliance no more signs there are. 

Than fishes leave in streams, or birds in air. 

And between us all sweetness may be had ; 

All, all that nature yields, or art can add. 

My two hps, eyes, thighs differ from thy two. 

But so, as thine from one another do : 

And, oh ! no more ; the likeness being such, 

Why should they not alike in all parts touch ? 



67 



Hand to strange hand, lip to lip none denies ; 
Why should they breast to breast, or thighs to 

thighs ? 
Likeness begets such strange self-flattery, 
That touching myself, all seems done to thee. 
Myself I embrace, and mine own hands I kiss, 
And amorously thank myself for this. 
Me in my glass I call thee ; but, alas ! 
When I would kiss, tears dim mine eyes and glass. 
0, cure this loving madness, and restore 
Me to me ; thee my half, my all, my more. 
So may thy cheek's red outwear scarlet dye. 
And their white, whiteness of the Galaxy ; 
So may thy mighty amazing beauty move 
Envy in all women, and in all men love ; 
And so be change and sickness far from thee. 
As thou, by coming near, keep'st them from me. 



TO BEN JONSON, 

January 6, 1603. 

The state and men's affairs are the best plays 
Next yours ; 'tis not more nor less than due praise : 
Write, but touch not the much descending race 
Of lords' houses, so settled in worth's place, 
As but themselves none think them usurpers : 
It is no fault in thee to suffer theirs. 



■68 EPISTLES. 

If the Queen masque, or king a-hunting go, 
Though all the court follow, let them; we know 
Like them in goodness that court ne'er will be, 
For that were virtue, and not flattery. 
Forget we were thrust out. It is but thus 
God threatens kings, kings lords, as lords do us. 
Judge of strangers, trust and believe your friend. 
And so me ; and when I true friendship end. 
With guilty conscience let me be worse stung 
Than with Popham's sentence thieves, or Cook's 
tongue [tell 

Traitors are. Friends are ourselves. This I thee 
As to my friend, and myself as counsel : 
Let for a while the time's unthrifty rout 
Contemn learning, and all your studies flout ; 
Let them scorn hell, they will a sergeant fear. 
More than we them ; that ere* long God may for- 
bear. 
But creditors will not. Let them increase 
In riot and excess, as their means cease ; 
Let them scorn him that made them, and still shun 
His grace, but love the whore who hath undone 
Them and their souls. But, that they that allow 
But one God, should have religions enow 
For the Queen's Masque, and their husbands, for 

more 
Than all the Gentiles knew or Atlas bore. 
Well, let all pass, and trust him, who nor cracks 
The bruised reed, nor quencheth smoking flax. 

* Uu. (Me " ere "V 



69 



TO BEN JONSON, 

9 NOVEMDRIS, 1603. 

If great men wrong me, I will spare myself; 

If mean, I will spare them ; I know the pelf 

Which is ill got, the owner doth upbraid ; 

It may corrupt a judge, make me afraid, 

And a jury : but 't will revenge in this. 

That, though himself be judge, he guilty is. 

What care I though of weakness men tax me ? 

I 'd rather sufferer than doer be ; 

That I did trust it was my nature's praise. 

For breach of word I knew but as a phrase. 

That judgment is, that surely can comprise 

The world in precepts, most happy and most wise. 

What though? though less, yet some of both 

have we. 
Who have learned it by use and misery. 
Poor I, whom every petty cross doth trouble. 
Who apprehend each hurt, that 's done me, double, 
Am of this (though it should sink me) careless, 
It would, but force me to a stricter goodness. 
They have great gain of me, who gain do win 
(If such gain be not loss) from every sin. 
The standing of great men's lives would afford 
A pretty sum, if God would sell his word. ; 



70 EPISTLES. 

He cannot ; they can theirs, and break them too. 
How unlike they are that they 're are likened to ? 
Yet I conclude, they are amidst my evils. 
If good, like gods ; the naught are so like devils. 



TO SIR THOMAS ROWE, 1603. 

Dear Tom, 
Tell her, if she to hired servants show 
Dislike, before they take their leave they go. 
When nobler spirits start at no disgrace ; 
For who hath but one mind, hath but one face. 
If then why I take not my leave she ask. 
Ask her again why she did not unmask. 
Was she or proud or cruel, or knew she 
'T would make my loss more felt, and pitied me ? 
Or did she fear one kiss might stay for moe ? 
Or else was she unwilling I should go ? 
I think the best and love so faithfully, 
I cannot choose but think that she loves me. 
If this prove not my faith, then let her try 
How in her service I would fructify. 
Ladies have boldly loved ; bid her renew 
That decayed worth, and prove the times past 

true. 
Then he, whose wit and verse grows now so lame, 
With songs to her will the wild Irish tame. 



EPISTLES. 71 

Howe'er I '11 wear the black and white riband ; 

White for her fortunes, black for mine shall stand. 

I do esteem her favour, not the stuff; 

If what I have was given, I 've enough, 

And all 's well, for had she loved, I had not had 

All my friend's hate ; for now departing sad 

I feel not that : Yet as the rack the gout 

Cures, so hath this worse grief that quite put out: 

My first disease nought but that worse cureth. 

Which (I dare foresay) nothing cures but death. 

Tell her all this before I am forgot, 

That not too late she grieve she love me not. 

Burdened with this, I was to depart less 
Willing than those which die, and not confess. 



THE END OF THE EPISTLES. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



ANATOMY OF THE WORLD. 

WHEREIN, BY OCCASION OF THE UNTIMELY DEATH 
OF MISTRESS ELIZABETH DRURY, THE FRAILTY 
AND THE DECAY OF THIS WHOLE WORLD IS 
REPRESENTED. 

THE riRST ANNIVERSARY. 

TO THE PEAISE OF THE DEAD, AND THE ANATOMY. 

Well died the world, that we might live to see 
This world of wit in his anatomy : 
No evil wants his good ; so wilder heirs 
Bedew their fathers' tombs with forced tears, 
Whose state requites their loss : while thus we 

gain, 
Well may we walk in blacks, but not complain. 
Yet how can I consent the world is dead. 
While this Muse lives ? which in his spirit's stead 
Seems to inform a world, and bids it be, 
In spite of loss or frail mortality ? 
And thou the subject of this well-born thought, 
Thrice-noble maid, could'st not have found nor 

sought 



76 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

A fitter time to yield to thy sad fate, 
Than while this spirit lives, that can relate 
Thy worth so well to our last nephews' eyne, 
That they shall wonder both at his and thine : 
Admired match, where strives in mutual grace 
The cunning pencil and the comely face ! 
A task, which thy fair goodness made too much 
For the bold pride of vulgar pens to touch : 
Enough is us* to praise them that praise thee. 
And say that but enough those praises be, 
Which, hadst thou lived, had hid their fearful head 
From the angry checkings of thy modest red : 
Death bars reward and shame ; when envy's gone, 
And gain, 'tis safe to give the dead their own. 
As then the wise Egyptians wont to lay 
More on their tombs than houses (these of clay, 
But those of brass or marble were) so we 
Give more unto thy ghost than unto thee. 
Yet what we give to thee, thou gavest to us, 
And, may'st but thank thyself, for being thus : 
Yet what thou gav'st and wert, O, happy maid. 
Thy grace professed all due, where 'tis repaid. 
So these high songs, that to thee suited bin. 
Serve but to sound thy Maker's praise and thine ; 
Which thy dear soul as sweetly sings to him 
Amid the choir of saints and seraphim. 
As any angels' tongues can sing of thee ; 
The subjects differ, though the skill agree : 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. i , 

For as by infant years men judge of age, 
Thy early love, thy virtues did presage 
What high part thou bear'st in those best of songs, 
Whereto no burden, nor no end belongs. 
Sing on, thou virgin soul, whose lossful gain 
Thy love-sick parents have bewailed in vain ; 
Ne'er may thy name be in our songs forgot,* 
Till we shall sing thy ditty and thy note. 

* Var. Never may thy name be in songs forgot. 



78 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



AN ANATOMY OF THE WORLD. 

THE riRST ANNIVERSARY. 

When that rich soul, which to her heaven is gone, 
Whom all do celebrate, who know they 've one, 
(For who is sure he hath a soul, unless 
It see and judge and follow worthiness. 
And by deeds praise it ? he who doth not this, 
May lodge an inmate soul, but 'tis not his,) 
When that queen ended here her progress-time, 
And as to her standing-house to heaven did climb, 
Where, loth to make the saints attend her long. 
She 's now a part both of the choir and song ; 
This world in that great earthquake languished ; 
For in a common bath of tears it bled. 
Which drew the strongest vital spirits out, 
But succoured them with a perplexed doubt, 
Whether the world did lose, or gain in this ; 
Because (since now no other way there is 
But goodness, to see her, whom all would see. 
All must endeavour to be good as she,) 
This great consumption to a fever turned. 
And so the world had fits ; it joyed, it mourned ; 
And, as men think that agues physic are. 
And the ague being spent, give over care. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. iV 

So thou, sick world, mistak'st thyself to be 
Well, when alas thou art in a lethargy : 
Her death did wound and tame thee then, and than 
Thou might'st have better spared the sun, or man, 
That wound was deep ; but 'tis more misery, 
That thou hast lost thy sense and memory. 
'T was heavy then to hear thy voice of moan, 
But this is worse, that thou art speechless grown. 
Thou hast forgot thy name thou hadst ; thou wast 
Nothing but she, and her thou hast o'erpast. 
For as a child kept from the font until 
A prince, expected long, come to fulfil 
The ceremonies, thou unnamed hadst laid. 
Had not her coming thee her palace made : 
\ Her name defined thee, gave thee form and frame, 
' And thou forget'st to celebrate thy name. 
Some months she hath been dead (but being dead, 
Measures of time are all determined) [none 

But long she hath been away, long, long : yet 
Offers to tell us, who it is that 's gone ; 
But as in states doubtful of future heirs. 
When sickness without remedy impairs 
The present prince, they 're loth it should be said, 
The prince doth languish, or the prince is dead. 
So mankind, feeling now a general thaw, 
A strong example gone, equal to law. 
The cement, which did faithfully compact 
And glue all virtues, now resolved and slacked. 
Thought it some blasphemy to say she was dead, 
Or that our weakness was discovered 



80 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

In that confession ; therefore spoke no more 
Than tongues, the soul being gone, the loss deplore 
But, though it be too late to succour thee, 
jSick world, yea, dead, yea, putrefied, since she, 
IJThj intrinsic balm and thy preservative, 
/ Can never be renewed, thou never live, 
I (since no man can make thee live) will try 
What we may gain by thy anatomy. 
Her death hath taught us dearly that thou art 
Corrupt and mortal in thy purest part. 
Let no man say, the world itself being dead, 
'Tis labour lost to have discovered 
The world's infirmities, since there is none 
Alive to study this dissection ; 
For there 's a kind of world remaining still ; 
Though she, which did inanimate and fill 
The world, be gone, yet in this last long night 
Her ghost doth walk, that is, a glimmering light, 
A faint M^eak love of virtue, and of good 
Reflects from her on them which understood 
Her worth ; and though she have shut in all day. 
The twilight of her memory doth stay. 
Which, from the carcase of the old world free. 
Creates a new world, and new creatures be 
) Produced : the matter and the stuff* of this 
Her virtue, and the form our practice is : 
And though to be thus elemented arm 
These creatures from home-born intrinsic harm, 
(For all assumed unto this dignity. 
So many weedless paradises be. 



FUXERAL ELEGIES. 81 

Which of themselves produce no venomous sin, 

Except some foreign serpent bring it in,) 

Yet, because outward storms the strongest break, 

And strength itself by confidence grows weak, 

This new world may be safer, being told 

The dangers and diseases of the old ; 

For with due temper men do then forego 

Or covet things, when they their true worth know^ 

(There is no health ; physicians say that we 
At best enjoy but a neutrality ; 
And can there be worse sickness than to know. 
That we are never well, nor can be so ? 
We are born ruinous : poor mothers cry, 
That children come not right nor orderly, 
Except they headlong come and fall upon 
An ominous precipitation. 
How witty is ruin, how importunate 
Upon mankind ! it laboured to frustrate 
Even God's purpose, and made woman, sent 
For man's relief, cause of his languishment ; 
They were to good ends, and they are so still, 
But accessary, and principal in ill ; 
For that first marriage was our funeral ; 
I One woman at one blow then killed us all ; 
I And singly one by one they kill us now. 
We do delightfully ourselves allow 
To that consumption, and, profusely blind, 
We kill ourselves to propagate our kind ; 
And yet we do not that ; we are not 'men : 
There is not now that mankind, which was then, 
6 



82 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Whenas the sun and man did seem to strive, 
(Joint-tenants of the world) who should survive ; 
When stag and raven, and the long-lived tree, 
Compared with man, died in minority ; 
When, if a slow-paced star had stolen away 
From the observer's marking, he might stay 
Two or three hundred years to see it again, 
And then make up his observation plain ; 
When, as the age was long, the size was great ; 
Man's growth confessed and recompensed the 
So spacious and large, that every soul [meat, 
Did a fair kingdom and large realm control ; 
And when the very stature thus erect 
Did that soul a good way towards heaven direct ; 
Where is this mankind now ? who lives to age, 
Fit to be made Methusalem his page ; 
Alas ! we scarce live long enough to try 
Whether a true-made clock run right or lie. 
Old grandsires talk of yesterday with sorrow. 
And for our children we reserve to-morrow. 
So short is life, that every peasant strives. 
In a torn house, or field, to have three lives. 
And, as in lasting, so in length, is man 
Contracted to an inch, who was a span ; 
For had a man at first in forests strayed 
Or shipwracked in the sea, one would have laid 
A wager, that an elephant or whale 
That met him, would not hastily assail 
A thing so equal to him ; now alas ! 
The fairies and the pigmies well may pass 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 83 

As credible ; mankind decays so soon, ^ 

We 're scarce our fathers' shadows cast at noon % 

Only death adds to our length ; nor are we grown 

In stature to be men, till we are none. 

But this were light, did our less volume hold 

All the old text, or had we changed to gold 

Their silver, or disposed into less glass 

Spirits of virtue, which then scattered was : 

But 'tis not so : we 're not retired but damped ; 

And, as our bodies, so our minds are cramped : 

'Tis shrinking, not close weaving, that hath thup^' 

In mind and body both bedwarfed us. ' 

We seem ambitious God's whole work to undo ; 

Of nothing he made us, and we strive, too, 

To bring ourselves to nothing back ; and we 

Do what we can to do it so soon as he : 

With new diseases on ourselves we war, 

And with new physic, a worse engine far. 

This Man, this, world's vice-emperor, in whom 

All faculties, all graces are at home, 

And if in other creatures they appear, 

They 're but man's ministers and legates there, 

To work on their rebellions, and reduce 

Them to civility and to man's use ; — 

This man, whom God did woo, and, loth to attend 

Till man came up, did down to man descend ; 

This man so great, that all that is is his, 

Oh what a trifle and poor thing he is ! 

If man were any thing, he 's nothing now ; 

Help, or at least some time "to waste, allow 



84 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

To his other wants, yet when he did depart 

With her whom we lament, he lost his heart. 

She, of whom the ancients seemed to prophesy, 

When they called virtues by the name of She ; 

She, in whom virtue was so much refined. 

That for alloy unto so pure a mind 

She took the weaker sex ; she, that could drive 

The poisonous tincture and the stain of Eve 

Out of her thoughts and deeds, and purify 

All by a true religious alchemy ; 

She, she is dead ; she 's dead : when thou know'st 

this, 
Thou know'st how poor a trifling thing man is, 
And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. 
The heart being perished, no part can be free. 
And that except thou feed (not banquet) on 
The supernatural food, religion. 
Thy better growth grows withered and scant ; 
Be more than Man, or thou 'rt less than an ant. 
Then as mankind, so is the world's whole frame 
Quite out of joint, almost created lame : 
For before God had made up all the rest, 
Corruption entered and depraved the best ; 
It seized the Angels, and then first of all 
The world did in her cradle take a fall. 
And turned her brains, and took a general 

maim. 
Wronging each joint of the universal frame. 
The noblest part, Man, felt it first ; and then 
Both beasts and plants, curst in the curse of man ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. OO 

So did the world from the first hour decay, 

That evening was beginning of the day ; 

And now the springs and summers which we see, 

Like sons of women after fifty be. 

And new philosophy calls all in doubt, 

The element of fire is quite put out ; 

The sun is lost, and the earth ; and no man's wit 

Can well direct him where to look for it. 

And freely men confess that this world 's spent, 

When in the planets and the firmament 

They seek so many new ; they see that this 

Is crumbled out again to his atomies. 

'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone. 

All just supply, and all relation : 

Prince, subject, father, son, are things forgot, 

For every man alone thinks he hath got 

To be a phcenix, and that there can be 

None of that kind, of which he is, but he. 

This is the world's condition now, and now 

She, that should all parts to reunion bow ; 

She, that had all magnetic force alone 

To draw and fasten sundered* parts in one ; 

She, whom wise nature had invented then, 

When she observed that every sort of men 

Did in their voyage in this world's sea stray, 

And needed a new compass for their way ; 

She, that was best and first original 

Of all fair copies, and the general 

* Ed. 1633, hundred. 



86 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Steward to fate ; she, whose rich eyes and breast 
Gilt the West-Indies, and perfumed the East ; 
Whose having breathed in this world did bestow 
Spice on those isles, and bade them still smell so; 
. And that rich India which doth gold inter, 

j Is but as single money coined from her ; 

I She, to whom this world must itself refer, 

As suburbs, or the microcosm of her ; [this 

She, she is dead ; she 's dead : when thou know'st 

Thou know'st how lame a cripple this world is. 

And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. 

That this world's general sickness doth not lie 

In any humour, or one certain part. 

But as thou saw'st it rotten at the heart. 

Thou seest a hectic fever hath got hold 

Of the whole substance, not to be controlled ; 

And that thou hast but one way not to admit 

The world's infection, to be none of it. 

For the world's subtlest immaterial parts 

Feel this consuming wound, and age's darts. 

For the world's beauty is decayed or gone. 

Beauty, that 's colour and proportion. 

We think the Heavens enjoy their spherical, 

Their round proportion embracing all, 

But yet their various and perplexed course, 

Observed in divers ages, doth enforce 

Men to find out so many eccentric parts. 

Such divers downright lines, such overthwarts, 

As disproportion that pure form ; it tears 

The firmament in eight-and-forty shares, 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 87 

And in these constellations then arise 

New stars, and old do vanish from our eyes ; 

As though heaven suffered earthquakes, peace or 

war. 
When new towers rise, and old demolished are. 
They have impaled within a zodiac 
The free-born sun, and keep twelve signs 

awake 
To watch his steps ; the Goat and Crab control 
And fright him back, who else to either pole 
(Did not these Tropics fetter him) might run ; 
For his course is not round, nor can the sun 
Perfect a circle, or maintain his way 
One inch direct, but where he rose to day 
He comes no more, but with a cozening line. 
Steals by that point, and so is serpentine. 
And seeming weary of his reeling thus, 
He means to sleep, being now fallen nearer us. 
So of the stars, which boast that they do run 
In circle still, none ends where he begun : 
All their proportion 's lame, it sinks, it swells ; 
For of meridians and parallels, 
Man hath weaved out a net, and this net thrown 
Upon the Heavens ; and now they are his own. 
Loth to go up the hill, or labour thus 
To go to heaven, we make heaven come to us ; 
"We spur, we rein the stars, and in their race 
They 're diversly content to obey our pace. 
But keeps the earth her round proportion still ? 
Doth not a Tenarus or hiojher hill 



bo FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Rise SO high like a rock, that one might think 
The floating moon would shipwrack there and 

sink? 
Seas are so deep, that whales being struck to-day, 
Perchance to-morrow scarce at middle way 
Of their wished journey's end, the bottom, die : 
And men, to sound depths, so much line untie, 
As one might justly think that there would rise 
At end thereof one of the antipodes : 
If under all a vault infernal be, 
(Which sure is spacious, except that we 
Invent another torment, that there must 
Millions into a strait hot room be thrust) 
Then solidness and roundness have no place : 
Are these but warts and pockholes in the face 
Of the earth ? Think so ; but yet confess, in this 
The world's proportion disfigured is ; 
That those two legs whereon it doth rely, 
Reward and punishment, are bent awry : 
And, oh ! it can no more be questioned, 
That beauty's best, proportion, is dead. 
Since even grief itself, which now alone 
Is left us, is without proportion. 
She, by whose lines proportion should be 
Examined, measure of all symmetry. 
Whom had that ancient seen, who thought souls 

made 
Of harmony, he would at next have said 
That harmony was she, and thence infer 
That souls were but resultances from her, 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 89 

And did from her into our bodies go, 

As to our eyes the forms from objects flow ; 

She, who, if those great doctors truly said 

That the ark to man's proportion was made, 

Had been a type for that, as that might be 

A type of her in this, that contrary 

Both elements and passions lived at peace 

In her, who caused all civil war to cease ; 

She, after whom what form soe'er we see. 

Is discord and rude incongruity ; [this, 

She, she is dead, she 's dead ! when thou know'st 

Thou know'st how ugly a monster this world is ; 

And learn'st thus much by our anatomy, 

That here is nothing to enamour thee ; 

And that not only faults in inward parts, 

Corruptions in our brains, or in our hearts, 

Poisoning the fountains, whence our actions spring. 

Endanger us ; but that if every thing 

Be not done fitly and in proportion. 

To satisfy wise and good lookers on, 

Since most men be such as most think they be, 

They are loathsome too by this deformity. 

For Good and Well must in our actions meet ; 

AVicked is not much worse than indiscreet. 

But beauty's other second element, 

Colour, and lustre, now is as near spent ; 

And had the world his just proportion, 

Were it a ring still, yet the stone is gone ; 

As a compassionate turquoise which doth tell, . 

By looking pale, the wearer is not well, |^-^ 



90 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

As gold falls sick, being stung with mercury, 
All the world's parts of such complexion be. 
When nature was most busy, the first week, 
Swaddling the new-born earth, God seemed to 

like 
That she should sport herself sometimes in play, 
To mingle and vary colours every day ; 
And then, as though she could not make enow. 
Himself his various rainbow did allow. 
Sight is the noblest sense of any one. 
Yet sight hath only colour to feed on. 
And colour is decayed ; summer's robe grows 
Dusky, and like an oft-died garment shows. 
Our blushing red, which used in cheeks to spread. 
Is inward sunk, and only our souls are red. 
Perchance the world might have recovered. 
If she, whom we lament, had not been dead ; 
But she, in whom all white, and red, and blue 
(Beauty's ingredients) voluntary grew, 
As in an unvext paradise ; from whom 
Did all things' verdure and their lustre come ; 
Whose composition was miraculous. 
Being all colour, all diaphanous, 
(For air and fire but thick gross bodies were. 
And liveliest stones but drowsy and pale to her) 
She, she is dead ; she 's dead : when thou know'st 

this, 
Thou know'st how wan a ghost this our world is ; 
And learn'st thus much by our anatomy. 
That it should more affright than pleasure thee ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 91 

And that, since all fair colour then did sink, 

'Tis now but wicked vanity to think 

To colour vicious deeds with good pretence, 

Or with bought colours to illude men's sense. 

Nor in aught more this world's decay appears, 

Than that her influence the heaven forbears, 

Or that the elements do not feel this, 

The father or the mother barren is. 

The clouds conceive not rain, or do not pour, 

In the due birth-time, down the balmy shower ; 

The air doth not motherly sit on the earth, 

To hatch her seasons, and give all things birth ; 

Spring-times were common cradles, but are 

tombs ; 
And false conceptions fill the general wombs ; 
The air shows such meteors, as none can see 
Not only what they mean, but what they be ; 
Earth such new worms, as would have troubled 

much 
The Egyptian Magi to have made more such. 
What artist now dares boast that he can bring 
Heaven hither, or constellate any thing. 
So as the influence of those stars may be 
Imprisoned in an herb, or charm, or tree. 
And do by touch all which those stars could do ? 
The art is lost, and correspondence too ; 
For heaven gives little, and the earth takes less, 
And man least knows their trade and purposes. 
If this commerce 'twixt heaven and earth were not 
Embarred, and all this traffic quite forgot. 



92 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

She, for whose loss we have lamented thus, 
Would work more fully and powerfully on us ; 
Since herbs and roots by dying lose not all. 
But they, yea ashes too, are medicinal. 
Death could not quench her virtue so, but that 
It would be (if not followed) wondered at. 
And all the world would be one dying swan, 
To sing her funeral praise, and vanish than. 
But as some serpents' poison hurteth not, 
Except it be from the live serpent shot. 
So doth her virtue need her here, to fit 
That unto us ; she working more than it. 
But she, in whom to such maturity 
Virtue was grown past growth, that it must die ; 
She, from whose influence all impression came. 
But by receiver's impotences lame ; 
Who, though she could not transubstantiate 
All states to gold, yet gilded every state, 
So that some princes have some temperance, 
Some counsellors some purpose to advance 
The common profit, and some people have 
Some stay, no more than kings should give, to 

crave, 
Some women have some taciturnity, 
Some nunneries some grains of chastity, — 
She, that did thus much, and much more could do. 
But that our age was iron, and rusty too ; 
She, she is dead ; she 's dead ! when thou know'st 

this, 
Thou know'st how dry a cinder this world is, 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 93 

And learn'st thus much by our anatomy, 

That 'tis in vain to dew or mollify 

It with thy tears, or sweat, or blood : no thing 

Is worth our travail, grief, or perishing, 

But those rich joys, which did possess her heart, 

Of which she 's now partaker, and a part. 

But, as in cutting up a man that 's dead, 

The body will not last out, to have read 

On every part, and therefore men direct 

Their speech to parts that are of most effect, 

So the world's carcase would not last, if I 

Were punctual in this anatomy ; 

Nor smells it well to hearers, if one tell 

Them their disease, who fain would think they 

are well. 
Here therefore be the end ; and, blessed maid, 
Of whom is meant whatever hath been said. 
Or shall be spoken well by any tongue. 
Whose name refines coarse lines, and makes prose 

song, 
Accept this tribute, and his-^rst^vear's rent, 



/Who, till his dark short taper's end be spent, 
I As oft as thy feast sees this widowed earth, 
I Will yearly celebrate thy second birth. 
That is, thy death ; for though the soul of man 
Be got when man is made, 'tis born but than. 
When man doth die ; our body 's as the womb, / <? 
And, as a midwife, death directs it home ; // \| 
And you her creatures, whom she works upon, 
And have your last and best concoction 



94 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

From her example and her virtue, if you 

In reverence to her do think it due, 

That no one should her praises thus rehearse, 

As matter fit for chronicle, not verse ; 

Vouchsafe to call to mind that God did make 

A last, and lasting'st piece, a song. He spake 

To Moses to deliver unto all 

That song, because he knew they would let fall 

The law, the prophets, and the history. 

But keep the song still in their memory : 

Such an opinion in due measure, made 

Me this great office boldly to invade ; 

Nor could incomprehensibleness deter 

Me from thus trying to imprison her ; 

Which when I saw that a strict grave could do, 

I saw not why verse might not do so too. 

Verse hath a middle nature ; heaven keeps souls, 

The grave keeps bodies, verse the fame enrolls. 



A FUNERAL ELEGY. 

'Tis loss to trust a tomb with such a guest, 
Or to confine her in a marble chest ; 
Alas ! what 's marble, jet, or porphyry, 
Prized with the chrysolite of either eye. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 95 

Or with those pearls and rubies which she was ? 
Join the two Indies in one tomb, 'tis glass ; 
And so is all to her materials, 
Though every inch were ten Escurials ; 
Yet she 's demolished ; can we keep her then 
In works of hands, or of the wits of men ? 
Can these memorials, rags of paper, give 
Life to that name, by which name they must live ? 
Sickly, alas ! short-lived, abortive be 
Those carcase verses, w^hose soul is not she ; 
And can she, who no longer would be she, 
(Being such a tabernacle) stoop to be 
In paper wrapt, or, when she would not lie 
In such an house, dwell in an elegy ? 
But 'tis no matter ; we may well allow 
Verse to live so long as the world will now, 
For her death wounded it. The world contains 
Princes for arms, and counsellors for brains ; 
Lawyers for tongues ; divines for hearts, and more ; 
The rich for stomachs, and for backs the poor ; 
The officers for hands ; merchants for feet. 
By which remote and distant countries meet ; 
But those fine spirits, which do tune and set 
This organ, are those pieces which beget 
Wonder and love ; and these were she ; and she 
Being spent, the world must needs decrepit be : 
For since death will proceed to triumph still. 
He can find nothing after her to kill, 
Except the world itself, so great was she. 
Thus brave and confident may nature be ; 



96 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Death cannot give her such another blow, 
Because she cannot such another show. 
But must we say she 's dead ? may it not be said, 
That as a sundered clock is piecemeal laid, 
Not to be lost, but by the maker's hand 
Repolished, without error then to stand, 
Or, as the Afric Niger stream enwombs 
Itself into the earth, and after comes 
(Having first made a natural bridge, to pass 
For many leagues) far greater than it was. 
May it not be said, that her grave shall restore 
Her greater, purer, firmer than before ? 
Heaven may say this, and joy in 't ; but can, we. 
Who live, and lack her here, this 'vantage see "i 
What is 't to us, alas ! if there have been 
An Angel made a Throne or Cherubin ? 
We lose by it ; and, as aged men are glad, 
Being tasteless grown, to joy in joys they had, 
So now the sick-starved world must feed upon 
This joy, that we had her, who now is gone. 
Rejoice then. Nature and this world, that you. 
Fearing the last fire's hastening to subdue 
Your force and vigor, ere it were near gone, 
Wisely bestowed and laid it all on one ; 
One, whose clear body was so pure and thin. 
Because it need disguise no thought within, [roll, 
'T was but a through-light scarf her mind to en- 
Or exhalation breathed out from her soul ; 
One, whom all men, who durst no more, admired. 
And whom, who'er had worth enough, desired. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 97 

As, when a temple 's built, saints emulate 
To which of them it shall be consecrate. 
But as when heaven looks on us with new eyes. 
Those new stars every artist exercise ; 
What place they should assign to them, they doubt. 
Argue, and agree not, till those stars go out ; 
So the world studied whose this piece should be. 
Till she can be no body's else, nor she : 
But like a lamp of balsamum, desired 
Rather to adorn than last, she soon expired, 
Clothed in her virgin-white integrity ; 
For marriage, though it doth not stain, doth dye. 
To 'scape the infirmities which wait upon 
Woman, she went away before she was one ; 
And the world's busy noise to overcome. 
Took so much death as served for opium ; 
For though she could not, nor could choose to die. 
She hath yielded to too long an ecstasy. 
He which, not knowing her sad history. 
Should come to read the book of destiny, [been, 
How fair and chaste, humble and high she had 
Much promised, much performed at not fifteen. 
And measuring future things by things before. 
Should turn the leaf to read, and read no more. 
Would think that either destiny mistook, 
Or that some leaves were torn out of the book ; 
But 'tis not so : Fate did but usher her 
To years of reason's use, and then infer 
Her destiny to herself, which liberty 
She took, but for this much, thus much to die ; 
7 



98 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Her modesty not suffering her to be 

Fellow-commissioner with destiny, 

She did no more but die ; if after her 

Any shall live, which dare true good prefer, 

Every such person is her delegate, 

To accomplish that which " should have been her 

fate. 
They shall make up that book, and shall have 

thanks 
Of fate and her, for filling up their blanks. 
For future virtuous deeds are legacies, 
Which from the gift of her example rise ; 
And 'tis in heaven part of spiritual mirth, 
To see how well the good play her on earth. 



i 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 99 



OF THE PKOGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

WHEREIN BY OCCASION OF THE RELIGIOUS DEATH 
OF MISTRESS ELIZABETH DRURY, THE INCOMMO- 
DITIES OF THE SOUL IN THIS LIFE, AND HER EX- 
ALTATION IN THE NEXT, ARE CONTEMPLATED. 

THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY. 

THE HAEBINGEK TO THE PROGKESS. 

Two souls move here, and mine (a third) must 

move 
Paces of admiration, and of love. 
Thy soul (dear virgin) whose this tribute is, 
Moved from this mortal sphere to lively bliss ; 
And yet moves still, and still aspires to see 
The world's last day, thy glory's full degree ; 
Like as those stars, which thou o'erlookest far. 
Are in their place, and yet still moved are : 
No soul (whilst with the luggage of this clay 
It clogged is) can follow thee half way. 
Or see thy flight, which doth our thoughts outgo 
So fast, as now the lightning moves but slow. 
But now thou art as high in heaven flown. 
As heaven 's from us ; what soul beside thine own 
Can tell thy joys, or say, he can relate 
Thy glorious journals in that blessed state ? 



100 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

I envy thee (rich soul) I envy thee, 

Although I cannot yet thy glory see : 

And thou (great spirit) which hers followed hast 

So fast, as none can follow thine so fast. 

So far, as none can follow thine so far, 

(And if this flesh did not the passage bar, 

Hadst caught her) let me wonder at thy flight, 

Which long agone hadst lost the vulgar sight, 

And now mak'st proud the better eyes, that they 

Can see thee lessened in thine airy way ; 

So while thou mak'st her soul by progress known. 

Thou mak'st a noble progress of thine own, 

From this world's carcase having mounted high 

To that pure life of immortality ; 

Since thine aspiring thoughts themselves so raise, 

That more may not beseem a creature's praise, 

Yet still thou vow'st her more, and every year 

Mak'st a new progress, whilst thou wander'st 

here; 
Still upward mount ; and let thy Maker's praise 
Honour thy Laura, and adorn thy lays : 
And since thy Muse her head in heaven shrouds. 
Oh, let her never stoop below the clouds ! 
And if those glorious sainted souls may know 
Or what we do, or what we sing below. 
Those acts, those songs shall still content them 

best. 
Which praise those awful Powers, that make them 

blest. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 101 



OF THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

THE SECOND ANNIVERSARY. 

Nothing could make me sooner to confess, 
That this world had an everlastingness, 
Than to consider that a year is run, 
Since both this lower world's and the sun's sun, 
The lustre and the vigour of this All, 
Did set, 't were blasphemy to say, did fall. 
But, as a ship which hath struck sail, doth run 
By force of that force which before it won ; 
Or as sometimes in a beheaded man, 
/ Though at those two Red Seas, which freely ran, 
One from the trunk, another from the head. 
His soul be sailed to her eternal bed, 
His eyes will twinkle, and his tongue will roll, 
As though he beckoned and called back his soul, 
He grasps his hands, and he pulls up his feet, 
And seems to reach, and to step forth to meet 
His soul, when all these motions which we saw. 
Are but as ice which crackles at a thaw ; 
Or as a lute, which in moist weather rings 
Her knell alone, by cracking of her strings ; 
So struggles this dead world, now she is gone : 
For there is motion in corruption. 



-i 



102 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

As some days are at the creation named, 
Before the sun, the which framed days, was framed, 
So after this sun's set some show appears, 
And orderly vicissitude of years ; 
Yet a new deluge, and of Lethe flood. 
Hath drowned us all ; all have forgot all good. 
Forgetting her, the main reserve of all ; 
Yet in this deluge, gross and general, 
Thou seest me strive for life ; my life shall be 
To be hereafter praised for praising thee. 
Immortal maid, who though thou would'st refuse 
The name of mother, be unto my Muse 
j A father, since her chaste ambition is 
/ Yearly to bring forth such a child as this. 
These hymns may work on future wits, and so 
May great grand-children of thy praises grow, 
And so, though not revive, embalm and spice 
The world, which else would putrefy with vice. 
For thus man may extend thy progeny, 
Until man do but vanish, and not die. 
These hymns thy issue may increase so long 
As till God's great Venite change the song. 
Thirst for that time, my insatiate soul, 
And serve thy thirst wuth God's safe-sealing bowl. 
Be thirsty still, and drink still, till thou go 
To the only health ; to be hydroptic so. 
Forget this rotten w^orld ; and unto thee 
Let thine own times as an old story be ; 
Be not concerned ; study not why, nor when ; 
Do not so much as not believe a man ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 103 

For though to err be worst, to try truths forth 

Is far more business than this world is worth. 

The world is but a carcase ; thou art fed 

By it but as a worm that carcase bred ; 

And why should'st thou, poor worm, consider 

more 
When this world will grow better than before, 
Than those thy fellow-worms do think upon 
That carcase's last resurrection ? 
Forget this world and scarce think of it so 
As of old clothes cast off a year ago. 
To be thus stupid is alacrity ; 
Men thus lethargic have best memory. 
Look upward, that 's towards her whose happy 

state 
We now lament not, but congratulate. 
She, to whom all this world was but a stage, 
Where all sat hearkening how her youthful age 
Should be employed, because in all she did 
Some figure of the golden times was hid ; 
Who could not lack whate'er this world could give, 
Because she was the form that made it live ; 
Nor could complain that this world was unfit 
To be stayed in then, when she was in it ; 
She, that first tried indifferent desires 
By virtue, and virtue by religious fires ; 
She, to whose person paradise adhered, 
As Courts to princes ; she, whose eyes ensphered\ \ 
Star-light enough, to have made the south control y "X 
(Had she been there) the starful northern pole ; /^ 



104 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

She, she is gone ; she 's gone : when thou know'st 

this, 
What fragmentary rubbish this world is 
Thou know'st, and that it is not worth a thought ; 
He honours it too much, that thinks it nought. 
/Think then, my soul, that death is but a groom, 
,-^ /Which brings a taper to the outward room, 

I Whence thou spy'st first a little glimmering light, 
\A.nd after brings it nearer to thy sight ; 
For such approaches doth heaven make in death : 
Think thyself labouring now with broken breath. 
And think those broken and soft notes to be 
Division, and thy happiest harmony ; 
Think thee laid on thy death-bed, loose and slack ; 
And think that but unbinding of a pack, 
To take one precious thing, thy soul, from thence ; 
Think thyself parched with fever's violence ; 
Anger thine ague more, by calling it 
Thy physic ; chide the slackness of the fit. [more. 
Think that thou hear'st thy knell, and think no 
But that, as bells called thee to church before, 
So this to the triumphant church calls thee ; 
Think Satan's sergeants round about thee be. 
And think that but for legacies they thrust ; 
Give one thy pride, to another give thy lust ; 
Give them those sins, which they gave thee before. 
And trust the immaculate blood to wash thy score ; 
Think thy friends weeping round, and think that 

they 
Weep but because they go not yet thy way ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 105 

Think that they close thine eyes, and think in this, 
That they confess much in the world amiss. 
Who dare not trust a dead man's eye with that. 
Which they from God and angels cover not ; 
Think that they shroud thee up, and think from 
They re-invest thee in white innocence ; [thence, 
Think that thy body rots, and (if so low, 
Thy soul exalted so, thy thoughts can go,) 
Think thee a prince, who of themselves create 
Worms which insensibly devour their state ; 
Think that they bury thee, and think that rite 
Lays thee to sleep but a saint Lucie's night; 
Think these things cheerfully, and if thou be 
Drowsy or slack, remember then that she. 
She, whose complexion was so even made. 
That which of her ingredients should invade 
The other three, no fear, no art could guess, 
So far were all removed from more or less ; 
But as in mithridate, or just perfumes. 
Where all good things being met, no one presumes 
To govern, or to triumph on the rest. 
Only because all were, no part was, best ; 
And as, though all do know, that quantities 
Are made of lines, and lines from points arise, 
None can these lines or quantities unjoint, 
And say, this is a line, or this a point ; 
So, though the elements and humours were 
In her, one could not say, this governs there ; 
Whose even constitution might have won 
Any disease to venture on the sun, 



106 rUNEKAL ELEGIES. 

Rather than her ; and make a spirit fear, 
That he to disuniting subject were ; 

,. /To whose proportions if we would compare 

U "-^ \j Cubes, they 're unstable ; circles, angular ; 
^ She, who was such a chain as fate employs 

To bring mankind all fortunes it enjoys. 
So fast, so even wrought, as one would think 
No accident could threaten any link ; 
She, she embraced a sickness, gave it meat, 
The purest blood and breath that e'er it eat ; 
And hath taught us, that though a good man hath 
Title to heaven, and plead it by his faith, 
And though he may pretend a conquest, since 
Heaven was content to suffer violence ; 
Yea, though he plead a long possession, too, 
( For they 're in heaven on earth, who heaven's 

works do) 
Though he had right, and power, and place before, 
Yet death must usher and unlock the door ; 
Think further on thyself, my soul, and think 
How thou at first wast made but in a sink ; 
Think, that it argued some infirmity. 
That those two souls, which then thou found'st 

in me. 
Thou fed'st upon, and drew'st into thee both 
My second soul of sense, and first of growth ; 
Think but how poor thou wast, how obnoxious, 
When a small lump of flesh could poison thus : 
This curdled milk, this poor unlittered whelp, 
My body, could, beyond escape or help. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 107 

Infect thee with original sin, and thou 
Could'st neither then refuse, nor leave it now ; 
Think, that no stubborn sullen anchorite, 
Which fixed to a pillar, or a grave, doth sit 
Bedded, and bathed in all his ordures, dwells 
So foully as our souls in their first-built cells ; 
Think in how poor a prison thou dost lie. 
After enabled but to suck, and cry ; [inn, 

Think, when 't was grown to most, 't was a poor 
A province packed up in two yards of skin. 
And that usurped, or threatened with a rage 
Of sicknesses, or their true mother. Age ; 
But think that death hath now enfranchised thee, 
Thou hast thy expansion now, and liberty ; 
Think, that a rusty piece discharged is flown 
In pieces, and the bullet is his own. 
And freely flies ; this to thy soul allow ; 
Think thy shell broke, think thy soul hatched but 

now ; 
And think this slow-paced soul, which late did 

cleave 
To a body, and went but by the body's leave, 
Twenly perchance or thirty mile a day. 
Despatches in a minute all the way 
'Twixt heaven and earth ; she stays not in the air. 
To look what meteors there themselves prepare ; 
She carries no desire to know, nor sense, 
Whether the air's middle region be intense ; 
For the clement of fire, she doth not know, 
Whether she passed by such a place or no ; 



108 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

She baits not at the moon, nor cares to try 
Whether in that new world men live and die ; 
Venus retards her not, to inquire how she 
Can (being one star) Hesper and Vesper be ; 
He, that charmed Argus' eyes, sweet Mercury, 
Works not on her, who now is grown all eye ; 

* Who, if she meet the body of the sun, 
fGoes through, not staying till his course be run ; 

|Who finds in Mars's camp no corps of guard. 
Nor is by Jove, nor by his father, barred, 

V But ere she can consider how she went. 
At once is at and through the firmament. 
And, as these stars were but so many beads 
Strung on one string, speed undistinguished leads 
Her through those spheres, as through the beads 

a string. 
Whose quick succession makes it still one thing : 
As doth the pith, which, lest our bodies slack, 
Strings fast the little bones of neck and back, 
S So by the soul doth death string heaven and earth ; 
For when our soul enjoys this her third birth, 
(Creation gave her one, a second Grace) 
Heaven is as near and present to her face. 
As colours are and objects in a room. 
Where darkness was before, when tapers come. 
This must, my soul, thy long-short progress be 
To advance these thoughts ; remember then that 

she. 
She, whose fair body no such prison was. 
But that a soul might well be pleased to pass 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 109 

An age in her ; she, whose rich beauty lent 
Mintage to other beauties, for they went 
But for so much as they were like to her ; 
She, in whose body (if we dare prefer 
This low world to so high a mark as she,) 
The western treasure, eastern spicery, 
Europe and Afric, and the unknown rest 
Were easily found, or what in them was best ; 
(And when we 've made this large discovery 
Of all, in her some one part then will be 
Twenty such parts, whose plenty and riches is 
Enough to make twenty such worlds as this ;) 
She, w^hom had they known, who did first betroth 
The tutelar angels, and assigned one both 
To nations, cities, and to companies, 
To functions, offices, and dignities, 
And to each several man, to him, and him. 
They would have given her one for every limb ; 
Ifehe, of whose soul if we may say, 'twas gold, 

\ gHer body was the electrum, and did hold 

'i I Many degrees of that ; we understood 

Her by her sight ; Qier pure and eloquent blood p 
Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought, ^ 
That one might almost say her body thought f) ^ 
She, she thus richly and largely housed, is gone, 
And chides us, slow-paced snails, who crawl upon 
Our prison's prison, earth, nor think us well. 
Longer than whilst we bear our brittle shell. 
But 't were but little to have changed our room. 
If, as we were in this our living tomb 



110 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Oppressed with ignorance, we still were so. 
Poor soul, in this thy flesh what dost thou know ? 
Thou know'st thyself so little, as thou know'st not 
How thou didst die, nor how thou wast begot ; 
Thou neither know'st, how thou at first cam'st in, 
Nor how thou took'st the poison of man's sin ; 
Nor dost thou, (though thou know'st that thou 

art so) 
By what way thou art made immortal, know. 
Thou art too narrow, wretch, to comprehend 
Even thyself, yea, though thou would'st but bend 
To know thy body. Have not all souls thought 
For many ages, that our body is wrought 
Of air and fire, and other elements ? 
And now they think of new ingredients ; 
And one soul thinks one, and another way 
Another thinks, and 'tis an even lay. 
Know'st thou but how the stone doth enter in 
The bladder's cave, and never break the skin ? 
Know'st thou how blood, which to the heart doth 

flow, 
Doth from one ventricle to the other go ? 
And for the putrid stuff, which thou dost spit, 
Know'st thou how thy lungs have attracted it ? 
There are no passages ; so that there is 
(For ought thou know'st) piercing of substances. 
And of those many opinions, which men raise 
Of nails and hairs, dost thou know which to praise? 
What hope have we to know ourselves, when we 
Know not the least things which for our use be ? 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. Ill 

We see in authors, too stiff to recant, 
A hundred controversies of an ant ; 
And yet one watches, starves, freezes, and sweats. 
To know but catechisms and alphabets 
Of unconcerning things, matters of fact, 
How others on our stage their parts did act, 
What Ctesar did, yea, and what Cicero said ; 
Why grass is green, or why our blood is red. 
Are mysteries which none have reached unto ; 
In this low form, poor soul, what wilt thou do ? 
Oh ! when will thou shake off this pedantry. 
Of being taught by sense and fantasy ? [great 
Thou look'st through spectacles; small things seem 
Below ; but up unto the watch-tower get. 
And see all things despoiled of fallacies : 
Thou shalt not peep through lattices of eyes, 
Xor hear through labyrinths of ears, nor learn 
By circuit or collections to discern ; 
In heaven thou straight know'st all concerning it, 
And what concerns it not shalt straight forget. 
There thou (but in no other school) may'st be 
Perchance as learned and as full as she ; 
She, who all libraries had thoroughly read 
At home in her own thoughts, and practised 
So much good, as would make as many more ; 
She, whose example they must all implore, 
Who would or do, or think well, and confess 
That all the virtuous actions they express, 
Are but a new and worse edition 
Of her some one thought, or one action ; 



112 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

She who in the art of knowing Heaven was grown 
Here upon earth to such perfection, 
Tlikt she hath, ever since to heaven she came, 
In a far fairer print but read the same ; 
She, she not satisfied with all this weight, 
(For so much knowledge as would overfreight 
Another, did but ballast her) is gone 
As well to enjoy, as get, perfection, 
And calls us after her, in that she took 
(Taking herself) our best and worthiest book. 
Return not, my soul, from this ecstasy. 
And meditation of what thou shalt be, 
To earthly thoughts, till it to thee appear. 
With whom thy conversation must be there. 
With whom wilt thou converse ? what station 
Canst thou choose out free from infection, 
That will not give thee theirs, nor drink in thine ? 
Shalt thou not find a spongy slack divine 
Drink and suck in the instructions of great men, 
And for the word of God vent them agen ? 
Are there not some courts (and then* no things be 
So like as courts) which in this let us see, 
That w^its and tongues of libellers are weak. 
Because they do more ill, than these can speak ? 
The poison 's gone through all ; poisons affect 
Chiefly the chiefest parts ; but some effect 
In nails, and hairs, yea excrements, will show ; 
So lies the poison of sin in the most low. 

* Qu, there? 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 113 

Up, up, my drowsy soul, where thy new ear 

Shall in the angels' songs no discord hear ; 

Where thou shalt see the blessed Mother-maid 

Joy in not being that, which men have said ; 

Where she 's exalted more for being good, 

Than for her interest of motherhood ; 

Up to those Patriarchs, which did longer sit 

Expecting Christ, than they 've enjoyed him yet ; 

Up to those Prophets, which now gladly see 

Their prophesies grown to be history ; 

Up to the Apostles, who did bravely run 

All the sun's course, with more light than the sun ; 

Up to those Martyrs, who did'calmly bleed 

Oil to the Apostle's lamps, dew to their seed ; 

Up to those Virgins, who thought that almost 

They made joint-tenants with the Holy Ghost, 

If they to any should his temple give ; 

Up, up, for in that squadron there doth live 

She, who hath carried thither new degrees 

(As to their number) to their dignities ; 

She, who being to herself a state, enjoyed 

All royalties, which any state employed ; 

For she made wars, and triumphed ; reason still 

Did not o'erthrow, but rectify her will ; 

And she made peace ; for no peace is like this, 

That beauty and chastity together kiss ; 

She did high justice ; for she crucified 

Every first motion of rebellious pride ; 

And she gave pardons, and was liberal. 

For, only herself except, she pardoned all j 



114 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

She coined ; in this, that her impression gave 
To all our actions all the worth they have ; 
She gave protections ; the thoughts of her breast 
Satan's rude officers could ne'er arrest. 
As *hese prerogratives being met in one, 
Made her a sovereign state, Religion 
Made her a church ; and these two made her all. 
She, who was all this all, and could not fall 
To worse, by company, (for she was still 
More antidote, than all the world was ill) 
She, she doth leave it, and by death survive 
All this in heaven ; whither who doth not strive 
The more because she 's there, he doth not know 
That accidental joys in heaven do grow. 
But pause, my soul, and study, ere thou fall 
On accidental joys, the essential ; 
Still before accessories do abide 
A trial, must the principal be tried ; 
And what essential joy canst thou expect 
Here upon earth ? what permanent effect 
Of transitory causes ? Dost thou love 
Beauty ? (and beauty worthiest is to inove ;) 
Poor cozened cozener, that she, and that thou, 
Which did begin to love, are neither now ; 
You are both fluid, changed since yesterday ; 
Next day repairs (but ill) last day's decay ; 
Nor are (although the river keep the name) 
Yesterday's waters and to-day's the same, 
So flows her face, and thine eyes ; neither now. 
That saint nor pilgrim which your loving vow . 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 115 

Concerned, remains ; but whilst you think you be 

Constant, you are hourly in inconstancy. 

Honour may have pretence unto our love, 

Because that God did live so long above 

"Without this honour, and then loved it so, 

That he at last made creatures to bestow 

Honour on him ; not that he needed it, 

But that to his hands man might grow more fit. 

But since all honours from inferiors flow, 

(For they do give it ; princes do but show [this 

"Whom they would have so honoured ;) and that 

On such opinions and capacities 

Is built, as rise and fall, to more and less, 

Alas ! 'tis but a casual happiness. 

Hath ever any man to himself assigned 

This or that happiness to arrest his mind, 

But that another man, which takes a worse. 

Thinks him a fool for having ta'en that course ? 

They who did labour Babel's tower to erect, 

Might have considered that for that effect 

All this whole solid earth could not allow. 

Nor furnish forth materials enow. 

And that his centre, to raise such a place, 

"Was far too little to have been the base ; 

No more affords this world foundation 

To erect true joy, were all the means in one. 

But as the heathen made them several gods 

Of all God's benefits, and all his rods, 

(For as the wine and corn and onions are 

Gods unto them, so agues be, and war,) 



116 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

And as by changing that whole precious gold 

To such small copper coins, they lost the old, 

And lost their only God, who ever must 

Be sought alone, and not in such a thrust ; 

So much mankind true happiness mistakes ; 

No joy enjoys that man, that many makes. 

Then, soul, to thy first pitch work up again ; 

Know that all lines which circles do contain. 

For once that they the centre touch, do touch 

Twice the circumference ; and be thou such ; 

Double on heaven thy thoughts ; on earth employed, 

All will not serve ; only who have enjoyed 

The sight of God in fulness, can think it ; 

For it is both the object and the wit ; 

This is essential joy, where neither he 

Can suffer diminution, nor we ; 

'Tis such a full and such a filling good, 

Had the angels once looked on him, they had stood. 

To fill the place of one of them, or more. 

She, whom we celebrate, is gone before ; 

She, who had here so much essential joy, 

As no chance could distract, much less destroy ; 

Who with God's presence was acquainted so, 

(Hearing, and speaking to him) as to know 

His face in any natural stone or tree, 

Better than when in images they be ; 

Who kept by diligent devotion 

God's image in such reparation 

Within her heart, that what decay was grown. 

Was her first parent's fault, and not her own ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 117 

Who, being solicited to any act, 

Still heard God pleading his safe precontract ; 

Who by a faithful confidence was here 

Betrothed to God, and now is married there ; 

Whose twilights were more clear than our mid-day ; 

Who dreamt devoutlier than most use to pray ; 

Who being here filled with grace, yet strove to be 

Both where more grace, and more capacity 

At once is given ; she to heaven is gone, 

Who made this world in some proportion 

A heaven, and here became unto us all, 

Joy (as our joys admit) essential. 

But could this low world joys essential touch, 

Heaven's accidental joys would pass them much. 

How poor and lame must then our casual be ? 

If thy prince will his subjects to call thee 

My Lord, and this do swell thee, thou art than, 

By being greater, grown to be less man. 

When no physician of redress can speak, 

A joyful casual violence may break 

A dangerous apostem in thy breast ; 

And whilst thou joy'st in this, the dangerous rest, 

The bag may rise up, and so strangle thee. 

Whate'er was casual, may ever be : 

What should the nature change ? or make the same 

Certain, which was but casual when it came ? 

All casual joy doth loud and plainly say. 

Only by coming, that it can away. 

Only in heaven joy's strength is never spent, 

And accidental things are permanent. 



118 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Joy of a soul's arrival ne'er decays, 

(For that soul ever joys, and ever stays ;) 

Joy, that their last great consummation 

Approaches in the resurrection, 

When earthly bodies more celestial 

Shall be, than angels were, (for they could fall,) 

This kind of joy doth every day admit 

Degrees of growth, but none of losing it. 

In this fresh joy, 'tis no small part, that she, 

She, in whose goodness he that names degree. 

Doth injure her ; ('tis loss to be called best. 

There where the stuff is not such as the rest) ; 

She, who left such a body, as even she 

Only in heaven could learn, how it can be 

Made better ; for she rather was two souls, 

Or like to full on-both-sides-written rolls. 

Where eyes might read upon the outward skin 

As strong records for God, as minds within ; 

She, who, by making full perfection grow, 

Pieces a circle, and still keeps it so. 

Longed for, and longing for 't, to heaven is gone. 

Where she receives and gives addition. 

Here, in a place, where misdevotion frames 

A thousand prayers to saints, whose very names 

The ancient church knew not, heaven knows not yet. 

And where what laws of poetry admit. 

Laws of religion have at least the same, 

Immortal Maid, I might invoke thy name. 

Could any saint provoke that appetite, 

Thou here should'st make me a French convertite, 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 119 

But thou would'st not ; nor would'st thou be con- 
tent 
To take this, for my second year's true rent, 
Did this coin bear any other stamp than his 
That gave thee power to do, me, to say this : 
Since his will is that to posterity 
Thou should'st for life and death a pattern be, 
And that the world should notice have of this, 
The purpose and the authority is his ; 
Thou art the proclamation ; and I am 
The trumpet, at whose voice the people came. 



I 



EPICEDES AND OBSEQUIES 

UPON THE DEATHS OF SUNDRY PERSONAGES. 

AN ELEGY 

ON THE UNTIMELY DEATH OF THE INCOMPARABLE 
PRINCE HENRY. 

Look to me, faith, and look to my faith, God ; 
For both my centres feel this period. 
Of weight one centre, one of greatness is ; 
And reason is that centre, faith is this ; 
For into our reason flow, and there do end. 
All that this natural world doth comprehend, 



120 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Quotidian things, and equidistant hence, 

Shut in for man in one circumference ; 

But for the enormous greatnesses, which are 

So disproportioned, and so angular, 

As is God's essence, place, and providence, 

Where, how, when, what souls do, departed hence. 

These things (eccentric else) on faith do strike ; 

Yet neither all, nor upon all, alike. 

For Reason, put to her best extension. 

Almost meets Faith, and makes both centres 

one ; 
And nothing ever came so near to this. 
As contemplation of that Prince we miss. 
For all, that Faith might credit mankind could, 
Reason still seconded that this prince would. 
If then least moving of the centre make 
More, than if whole hell belched, the world to 

shake. 
What must this do, centres distracted so, 
That we see not what to believe or know ? 
Was it not well believed till now, that he. 
Whose reputation was an ecstasy 
On neighbour states, which knew not why to wake, 
Till he discovered what ways he would take ; 
For whom, what princes angled, when they tried, 
Met a torpedo and were stupefied ; 
And others' studies, how he would be bent ; 
Was his great father's greatest instrument, 
And activest spirit, to convey and tie 
This soul of peace to Christianity ? 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 121 

Was it not well believed, that he would make 

This general peace the Eternal overtake 

A.nd that his times might have stretched out so far, 

As to touch those, of which they emblems are ? 

For to confirm this just belief, that no^v 

The last days came, we saw heaven did allow. 

That, but from his aspect and exercise. 

In peaceful times rumours of wars should rise. 

But now this faith is heresy : we must 

Still stay, and vex our great grandmother, Dust. 

Oh, is God prodigal ? hath he spent his store 

Of plagues on us ; and only now, when more 

Would ease us much, doth he grudge misery, 

And will not let 's enjoy our curse, to die ? 

As for the earth, thrown lowest down of all, 

'T were an ambition to desire to fall ; 

So God, in our desire to die, doth know 

Our plot for ease, in being wretched so ; 

Therefore we live, though such a life we have, 

As but so many mandrakes on his grave. 

What had his growth and generation done. 

When, what we are, his putrefaction 

Sustains in us, earth, which griefs animate ? 

Nor hath our world now other soul than that. 

And could grief get so high as heaven, that choir, 

Forgetting this their new joy, would desire 

(With grief to see him) he had stayed below. 

To rectify our errors they foreknow. 

Is the other centre, Reason, faster then ? [men ? 

Where should we look for that, now we 're not 



122 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

For if our Reason be our connection 

Of causes, now to us there can be none. 

For, as if all the substances were spent, 

'T were madness to inquire of accident, 

So is it to look for Reason, he being gone. 

The only subject Reason wrought upon. 

If Fate have such a chain, whose divers links 

Industrious man discerneth, as he thinks. 

When miracle doth come, and so steal in 

A new link, man knows not where to begin ; 

At a much deader fault must reason be. 

Death having broke off such a link as he. 

But now, for us with busy proof to come. 

That we 've no Reason, would prove we had some ; 

So would just lamentations : therefore we 

May safelier say, that we are dead, than he. 

So, if our griefs we do not well declare. 

We 've double excuse ; he 's not dead, and we are. 

Yet I would not die yet ; for though I be 

Too narrow to think him, as he is he, 

(Our soul's best baiting and mid-period, 

In her long journey of considering God) 

Yet, (no dishonour) I can reach him thus, 

As he embraced the fires of love, with us. 

Oh may I, (since I live) but see or hear. 

That she-intelligence which moved this sphere, 

I pardon fate my life ; who e'er thou be. 

Which hast the noble conscience, thou art she : 

I conjure thee by all the charms he spoke. 

By the oaths which only you two never broke. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 123 

By all the souls ye sighed, that if you see 
These lines, you wish I knew your history ; 
So much as you two mutual heavens were here, 
I were an angel, singing what you were. 



TO THE COUNTESS OF BEDFORD. 

MADAM, 

I HAVE learned by those laws, wherein I am 
little conversant, that he which bestows any cost 
upon the dead, obliges him which is dead, but not 
his heir ; I do not therefore send this paper to your 
Ladyship, that you should thank me for it, or think 
that I thank you in it ; your favours and benefits 
to me are so much above my merits, that they are 
even above my gratitude, if that were to be judged 
by words, which must express it. But, Madam, 
since your noble brother's fortune being yours, the 
evidences also concerning it are yours ; so his vir- 
tues being yours, the evidences concerning that 
belong also to you, of which by your acceptance 
this may be one piece ; in which quality I humbly 
present it, and as a testimony how entirely your 
family possesseth 

Your Ladyship's 

Most humble and thankful servant, 

JOHN DONNE. 



124 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



OBSEQUIES 

TO THE LOKD HARRINGTON'S BROTHER. 
TO THE COUItTESS OF BEDFORD. 

Fair soul, which wast not only as all souls be, 

Then when thou wast infused, harmony, 

But did'st continue so, and now dost bear 

A part in God's great organ, this whole sphere ; 

If looking up to God, or down to us. 

Thou find that any way is pervious 

'Twixt heaven and earth, and that men's actions do 

Come to your knowledge and affections too, 

See, and with joy, me to that good degree 

Of goodness grown, that I can study thee. 

And by these meditations refined. 

Can unapparel and enlarge my mind, 

And so can make by this soft ecstasy. 

This place a map of heaven, myself of thee. 

Thou seest me here at midnight, now all rest ; 

Time's dead-low water, when all minds divest 

To-morrow's business ; when the labourers have 

Such rest in bed, that their last church-yard grave. 

Subject to change, will scarce be a type of this ; 

Now when the client, whose last hearing is 

To-morrow, sleeps ; when the condemned man, 

(Who, when he opes his eyes, must shut them than 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 125 

Again by death,) although sad watch he keep, 
Doth practise dying by a little sleep ; 
Thou at this midnight seest me, and as soon 
As that sun rises to me, midnight's noon ; 
All the world grows transparent, and I see 
Through all, both Church and State, in seeing 

thee ; 
And I discern by favour of this light 
Myself, the hardest object of the sight. 
God is the glass ; as thou, when thou dost see 
Him who sees all, seest all concerning thee, 
So, yet unglorified, I comprehend 
All in these mirrors of thy ways and end. 
Though God be our true glass, through which we 

see 
All, since the being of all things is he, 
Yet are the trunks, which do to us derive 
Things in proportion, fit by perspective, 
Deeds of good men : for by their being here, 
Virtues, indeed remote, seem to be near. 
But where can I affirm or where arrest 
My thoughts on his deeds ? which shall I call best ? 
For fluid virtue cannot be looked on, 
Nor can endure a contemplation. 
As bodies change, and as I do not wear 
Those spirits, humours, blood, I did last year ; 
And as, if on a stream I fix mine eye. 
That drop which I looked on, is presently 
Pushed with more waters from my sight, and gone; 
So in this sea of virtues, can no one 



126 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Be insisted on ; virtues as rivers pass, 

Yet still remains that virtuous man there was. 

And as, if man feed on man's flesh, and so 

Part of his body to another owe, 

Yet at the last two perfect bodies rise. 

Because God tnows where every atom lies. 

So, if one knowledge were made of all those. 

Who knew his minutes well, he might dispose 

His virtues into names, and ranks ; but I 

Should injure Nature, Virtue, and Destiny, 

Should I divide and discontinue so 

Virtue, which did in one entireness grow. 

For as he that should say, spirits are framed 

Of all the purest parts that can be named. 

Honours not spirits half so much as he. 

Which says they have no parts, but simple be. 

So is it of virtue ; for a point and one 

Are much entirer than a million. 

And had Fate meant to have had his virtues told, 

It would have let him live to have been old. 

So then that virtue in season, and then this. 

We might have seen, and said that now he is 

Witty, now wise, now temperate, now just : 

In good short lives, virtues are fain to thrust. 

And to be sure betimes to get a place. 

When they would exercise, lack time and space. 

So was it in this person, forced to be. 

For lack of time, his own epitome ; 

So to exhibit in few years as much 

As all the long-breathed chronicles can touch. 



I 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 127 

As when an angel down from heaven doth fly, 
Our quick thought cannot keep him company ; 
"We cannot think, now he is at the sun. 
Now through the moon, now through the air doth 

run. 
Yet when he 's come, we know he did repair 
To all 'twixt heaven and earth, sun, moon, and 

air; 
And as this angel in an instant knows, 
And yet we know this sudden knowledge grows 
By quick amassing several forms of things, 
"Which he successively to order brings, 
"When they, whose slow-paced lame thoughts can- 
not go 
So fast as he, think that he doth not so, 
(J-ust as a perfect reader doth not dwell 
On every syllable, nor stay to spell, 
Yet without doubt he doth distinctly see. 
And lay together every A and B,) 
So in short-lived good men is not understood 
Each several virtue, but the compound good ; 
For they all virtue's paths in that pace tread, 
As angels go and know, and as men read. 
0, why should then these men, these lumps of 

balm. 
Sent hither the world's tempest to becalm. 
Before by deeds they are diffused and spread. 
And so make us alive, themselves be dead ? 
soul ! circle ! why so quickly be 
Thy ends, thy birth, and death closed up in thee ? 



128 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Since one foot of thy compass still was placed 
In heaven, the other might securely have paced 
In the most large extent through every path, 
Which the whole world, or man, the abridgment, 

hath. 
Thou know'st, that though the tropic "circles have 
(Yea, and those small ones, which the poles en- ^ 

grave) 
All the same roundness, evenness, and all 
The endlessness of the equinoctial. 
Yet when we come to measure distances. 
How here, how there the sun affected is. 
When he doth faintly work, and w^ien prevail, 
Only great circles then can be our scale ; 
So, though thy circle to thyself express 
All tending to thy endless happiness, 
And we, by our good use of it, may try 
Both how to live well (young) and how to die, 
Yet, since we must be old, and age endures 
His torrid zone at court, and calentures 
Of hot ambition, irreligion's ice. 
Zeal's agues, and by hydroptic avarice, 
(Infirmities, which need the scale of truth. 
As well as lust and ignorance of youth) ; 
Why didst thou not for these give medicines too, 
And by thy doing set us what to do ? 
Though, as small pocket-clocks, whose every wheel 
Doth each mis-motion and distemper feel. 
Whose hands gets shaking palsies, and whose string 
(His sinews) slackens, and whose soul, the spring, 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 129 

Expires or languishes, whose pulse, the flee, 

Either beats not, or beats unevenly, 

"Whose voice, the bell, cloth rattle or grow dumb, 

Or idle, as men, which to their last hours come, 

If these clocks be not wound, or be wound still, 

Or be not set, or set at every will, 

So youth is easiest to destruction. 

If then we follow all, or follow none. 

Yet as in great clocks, which in steeples chime. 

Placed to inform whole towns to employ their time, 

An error doth more harm, being general, 

"When small clocks' faults only on the wearer fall, 

So work the faults of age, on which the eye 

Of children, servants, or the state rely ; 

"Why would'st not thou then, which hadst such a 

soul, 
A clock so true, as might the sun control, 
And daily hadst from him, who gave it thee, 
Instructions, such, as it could never be 
Disordered, stay here, as a general 
And great sun-dial, to have set us all? 
Oh why wouldest thou be an instrument 
To this unnatural course ? or why consent 
To this, not miracle, but prodigy. 
That when the ebbs longer than flowings be. 
Virtue, whose flood did with thy youth begin, 
Should so much faster ebb out than flow in ? 
Though her flood were blown in by thy first 

breath. 
All is at once sunk in the whirlpool, death ; 
9 



^130 ' FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Which word I would not name, but that I see 
Death, else a desert, grown a court by thee. 
Now I am sure that if a man would have 
Good company, his entry is a grave. 
Methinks all cities now but ant-hills be. 
Where when the several labourers I see 
For children, house, provision, taking pain, [grain : 
They 're all but ants, carrying eggs, straw, and 
And church-yards are our cities, unto which 
The most repair, that are in goodness rich ; 
There is the best concourse and confluence, 
There are the holy suburbs, and from thence 
Begins God's city, new Jerusalem, 
Which doth extend her utmost gates to them : 
At that gate then, triumphant soul, dost thou 
Begin thy triumph. But since laws allow 
That at the triumph-day the people may, 
All that they will, 'gainst the triumpher say, 
Let me here use that freedom, and express 
My grief, though not to make the triumph less. 
By law to triumphs none admitted be. 
Till they, as magistrates, get victory ; 
Though then to thy force all youth's foes did yield, 
Yet till fit time had brought thee to that field. 
To which thy rank in this state destined thee, 
That there thy counsels might get victory. 
And so in that capacity remove 
All jealousies 'twixt prince and subject's love. 
Thou could'st no title to this triumph have, 
Thou didst intrude on death, usurp a grave. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 131 

Then (though yictoriously) thou hadst fought as yet 

But with thine own affections, with the heat 

Of youth's desires, and colds of ignorance, 

But till thou should'st successfully advance 

Thine arms 'gainst foreign enemies, which are 

Both envy, and acclamations popular, 

(For both these engines equally defeat, 

Though by a divers mine, those which are great) 

Till then thy war was but a civil war, 

For which to triumph none admitted are ; 

No more are they, who, though with good success, 

In a defensive war their power express. 

Before men triumph, the dominion 

Must be enlarged, and not preserved alone ; 

Why should'st thou then, whose battles were to 

win 
Thyself from those straits nature put thee in, 
And to deliver up to God that state. 
Of which he gave thee the vicariate, 
(Which is thy soul and body) as entire 
As he, who takes indentures, doth require. 
But didst not stay, to enlarge his kingdom too, 
By making others, what thou didst, to do ; 
Why should'st thou triumph now, when heaven no 

more 
Hath got, by getting thee, than it had before ? 
For heaven and thou, even when thou livedst here, 
Of one another in possession were. 
But this from triumph most disables thee, 
That that place, which is conquered, must be 



132 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Left safe from present war, and likely doubt 

Of imminent commotions to break out ; 

And hath he left us so ? or can it be 

His territory was no more than he ? 

No, we were all his charge ; the diocese 

Of every exemplar man the whole world is ; 

And he was joined in commission 

With tutelar angels, sent to every one. 

But though this freedom to upbraid, and chide 

Him who triumphed, were lawful, it was tied 

With this, that it might never reference have 

Unto the senate w^ho this triumph gave ; 

Men might at Pompey jest, but they might not 

At that authority by which he got 

Leave to triumph, before by age he might ; 

So though, triumphant soul, I dare to write 

Moved with a reverential anger, thus 

That thou so early would'st abandon us. 

Yet I am far from daring to dispute 

With that great sovereignty, whose absolute 

Prerogative hath thus dispensed with thee 

'Gainst nature's laws, which just impugners be 

Of early triumphs : and I (though with pain) 

Lessen our loss, to magnify thy gain 

Of triumph, when I say it was more fit 

That all men should lack thee, than thou lack it. 

Though then in our times be not suffered 

That testimony of love unto the dead. 

To die with them and in their graves be hid, 

As Saxon Wives, and French Soldarii did ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 133 

And though in no degree I can express 

Grief in great Alexander's great excess, 

Who at his friend's death made whole towns 

divest 
Their walls and bulwarks, which became them 

best ; 
Do not, fair soul, this sacrifice refuse, 
That in thj grave I do inter my Muse, 
Which by my grief, great as thy worth, being cast 
Behindhand, yet hath spoke, and spoke her last. 



AN ELEGY ON THE LADY MAEKHAM. 

Man is the world, and death the ocean 
To which God gives the lower parts of man. ^ 

This sea environs all, and though as yet ^ 

God hath set marks and bounds 'twixt us and it, 
Yet doth it roar and gnaw, and still pretend, 
A:nd breaks our bank, whene'er it takes a friend : 
Then our land-waters (tears of passion) vent ; 
Our waters, then above our firmament, 
(Tears, which our soul doth for her sins let fall,) 
Take all a brackish taste, and funeral ; 
sA.nd even those tears, which should wash sin, 
^«».^,,,__are sin. 
We, after God's Noah, drown our world again. 



131 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Nothing but man, of all envenomed things, 
Doth work upon itself with inborn stings. 
Tears are false spectacles ; we cannot see 
Through passion's mist, what we are, or what she. 
In her this sea of death hath made no breach ; 
But as the tide doth wash the slimy beach, 
And leaves embroidered works upon the sand. 
So is her flesh refined by death's cold hand. 
As men of China, after an age's stay. 
Do take up porcelain, where they buried clay. 
So at this grave, her limbec (which refines 
The diamonds, rubies, sapphires, pearls, and mines 
Of which this flesh was) her soul shall inspire 
Flesh of such stuff, as God, when his last fire 
Annuls this world, to recompense it, shall 
Make and name them the elixir of this all. 
They say, the sea, when it gains, loseth too ; 
If carnal death (the younger brother) do 
Usurp the body ; our soul, which subject is 
To the elder death by sin, is freed by this ; 
They perish both, when they attempt the just; 
For graves our trophies are, and both deaths'* 

dust. 
So, unobnoxious now, she hath buried both ; 
For none to death sins, that to sin is loth. 
Nor do they die, which are not loth to die ; 
So hath she this and that virginity. 
Grace was in her extremely diligent, 
That kept her from sin, yet made her repent. 

* Edd. 1633 and 1635. death's. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 135 

Of what small spots pure white complains ! Alas, 

How little poison cracks a crystal glass I 

She sinned but just enough to let us see 

That God's word must be true, all sinners be. 

So much did zeal her conscience rarefy, 

That extreme truth lacked little of a lie, 

Making omissions acts, laying the touch 

Of sin on things, that sometime may be such. 

As Moses' cherubins, whose natures do 

Surpass all speed, by him are winged too, 

So would her soul, already in heaven, seem then 

To climb by tears, the common stairs of men. 

How fit she was for God, I am content 

To speak, that Death his vain haste may repent : 

How fit for us, how even and how sweet, 

How good in all her titles, and how meet 

To have reformed this forward heresy, 

That women can no parts of friendship be ; 

How moral, how divine, shall not be told. 

Lest they, that hear her virtues, think her old ; 

And lest we take Death's part, and make him glad 

Of such a prey, and to his triumph add. 



^i 



136 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



ELEGY ON MISTRESS BOULSTRED. 

Death, I recant, and say, unsaid by me 
Whate'er hath slipt, that might diminish thee : 
Spiritual treason, atheism 'tis, to say. 
That any can thy summons disobey. 
The earth's face is but thy table ; there are set 
Plants, cattle, men, dished for Death to eat. 
In a rude hunger now he millions draws 
Into his bloody, or plaguy, or starved jaws ; 
Now he will seem to spare, and doth more waste, 
Eating the best first, well preserved to last ; 
Now wantonly he spoils, and eats us not, 
But breaks off friends, and lets us piecemeal rot. 
Nor will this earth serve him ; he sinks the deep, 
Where harmless fish monastic silence keep, 
Who (were Death dead) the roes of living sand 
Might sponge that element, and make it land. 
He rounds the air, and breaks the hymnic notes 
In birds', Heaven's choristers, organic throats. 
Which (if they did not die) might seem to be 
A tenth rank in the heavenly hierarchy. 
O, strong and long-lived Death, how cam'st 

thou in ? 
And how without creation didst begin ? 
Thou hast, and shalt see dead, before thou diest. 
All the four monarchies, and antichrist. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 137 

How could I think thee nothing, that see now 
In all this all, nothing else is, but thou ? 
Our births and lives, vices and virtues, be 
Wasteful consumptions, and degrees of thee. 
For we to live, our bellows wear, and breath ; 
Xor are we mortal, dying, dead, but death. 
And though thou beest (0 mighty bird of prey) 
So much reclaimed by God, that thou must lay 
All, that thou kill'st, at his feet ; yet doth he 
Reserve but few, and leaves the most for thee. 
And of those few, now thou hast overthrown 
One, whom thy blow makes not ours, nor thine own ; 
She was more stories high : hopeless to come 
To her soul, thou hast offered at her lower room. 
Her soul and body was a king and court ; 
But thou hast both of captain missed and fort. 
As houses fall not, though the kings remove, 
Bodies of saints rest for their souls above. 
Death gets 'twixt souls and bodies such a place 
As sin insinuates 'twixt just men and grace ; 
Both work a separation, no divorce : 
Her soul is gone to usher up her corse, 
Which shall be almost another soul, for there 
Bodies are purer than best souls are here. 
Because in her her virtues did outgo 
Her years, would'st thou, emulous Death, do so. 
And kill her young to thy loss ? must the cost 
Of beauty and wit, apt to do harm, be lost ? 
What though thou found'st her proof 'gainst sins 

of youth ? 
Oh, every age a diverse sin pursu'th. 



138 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Thou should'st have stayed, and taken better hold ; 

Shortly, ambitious ; covetous, when old. 

She might have proved ; and such devotion 

Might once have strayed to superstition. 

If all her virtues must have grown, yet might 

Abundant virtue have bred a proud delight. 

Had she persevered just, there would have been 

Some that would sin, misthinking she did sin ; 

Such as would call her friendship love, and feign 

To sociableness a name profane ; 

Or sin by tempting ; or, not daring that, 

By wishing, though they never told her what. 

Thus might'st thou have slain more souls, hadst 

thou not crost 
Thyself, and, to triumph, thine army lost. 
Yet, though these ways be lost, thou hast left one, 
Which is, immoderate grief that she is gone : 
But we may 'scape that sin, yet weep as much ; 
Our tears are due, because we are not such. 
Some tears, that knot of friends, her death must 

cost. 
Because the chain is broke, though no link lost. 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 139 



ON HBISELF. 



Madam, 
That I might make your cabinet my tomb, 

And for my fame, which I love next my soul, 
Next to my soul provide the happiest room, 
Admit to that place this last funeral scroll. 
Others by wills give legacies, but I, 
Dying, of you do beg a legacy. 

My fortune and my choice * this custom break, 
"When we are speechless f grown, to make stones 

speak : 
Though no stone tell thee what I was, yet thou 
In my grave's inside seest, what thou art now: 
Yet thou 'rt not yet so good ; till death us lay 
To ripe and mellow here, we 're stubborn clay. 
Parents make us earth, and souls dignify 
Us to be glass ; here to grow gold we lie. 
Whilst in our souls sin bred and pampered is. 
Our souls become worm-eaten carcases ; 
So we ourselves miraculously destroy ; 
Here bodies with less miracle enjoy 
Such privileges, enabled here to scale 
Heaven, when the trumpet's air shall them exhale. 

* Var. will. f Var. senseless. 



140 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Hear this, and mend thyself, and thou mend'st me, 
By making me, being dead, do good for thee ; 
And think me well composed, that I could now 
A last sick hour to syllables allow. 



Death, be not proud ; thy hand gave not this blow. 
Sin was her captive, whence thy power doth flow ; 
The executioner of wrath thou art. 
But to destroy the just is not thy part. 
Thy coming terror, anguish, grief denounces ; 
Her happy state courage, ease, joy pronounces. 
From out the crystal palace of her breast. 
The clearer soul was called to endless rest, 
(Not by the thundering voice, wherewith God 

threats. 
But as with crowned saints in heaven he treats,) 
And, waited on by angels, home was brought, 
To joy that it through many dangers sought ; 
The key of mercy gently did unlock 
The door 'twixt heaven and it, when life did knock. 
Nor boast, the fairest frame was made thy prey, 
Because to mortal eyes it did decay ; 
A better witness than thou art assures 
That, though dissolved, it yet a space endures ; 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 141 

'No dram thereof shall want or loss sustain, 
"When her best soul inhabits it again. 
Go then to people cursed before they were, 
Their souls in triumph to thy conquest bear. 
Glory not thou thyself in these hot tears, 
Which our face, not for her, but our harm wears : 
The mourning livery given by grace, not thee. 
Which wills our souls in these streams washed 

should be ; 
And on our hearts, her memory's best tomb. 
In this her epitaph doth write thy doom. 
Blind .were those eyes saw not how bright did shine 
Through flesh's misty veil those beams divine ; 
Deaf were the ears not charmed with that sweet 

sound 
Which did i' the spirit's instructed voice abound ; 
Of flint the conscience did not yield and melt 
At what in her last act it saw and felt. 

Weep not, nor grudge then, to have lost her sight, 
Taught thus, our after-stay's but a short night : 
But by all souls, not by corruption choked, 
Let in high-raised notes that power be invoked ; 
Calm the rough seas by which she sails to rest. 
From sorrows here to a kingdom ever blest. 
And teach this hymn of her with joy, and sing, 

The grave no conquest gets, Death hath no sting. 



142 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



ELEGY ON THE LORD C. 

Sorrow, that to this house scarce knew the way, 

Is, oh ! heir of it, our all is his prey. 

This strange chance claims strange wonder, and 

to us 
Nothing can be so strange, as to weep thus. 
'Tis well, his life's loud-speaking works deserve, 
And give praise too ; our cold tongues could not 

serve : 
'Tis well, he kept tears from our eyes before. 
That to fit this deep ill we might have store. 
Oh, if a sweet-brier climb up by a tree. 
If to a paradise that transplanted be, 
Or felled, and burnt for holy sacrifice. 
Yet, that must wither, which by it did rise. 
As we for him dead, — though no family 
E'er rigged a soul for heaven's discovery, 
With whom more venturers more boldly dare 
Venture their states, with him in joy to share. 
We lose, what all friends loved, him ; he gains now 
But life by death, which worst foes would allow. 
If he could have foes, in whose practice grew 
All virtues, whose name subtle school-men knew. 
What ease can hope, that we shall see him, beget ; 
When we must die first, and cannot die yet ? 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 143 

His children are his pictures ; Oh ! they be 
Pictures of him dead ; senseless, cold as he. 
Here needs no marble tomb, since he is gone ; 
He, and about him his, are turned to stone. 



TO SIR ROBERT CARR. 
Sir, 

I PRESUME you rather try -what you can do in me, than 
what I can do in verse ; you know my uttermost when it was 
best, and even then I did best, when I had least truth for my 
subjects. In this present case there is so much truth, as it 
defeats all poetry. CaU therefore this paper by what name 
you will, and if it be not worthy of him, nor of you, nor of 
me, smother it, and be that the sacrifice. If you had com- 
manded me to have waited on his body to Scotland and 
preached there, I would have embraced the obligation with 
more alacrity; But I thank you, that you would command 
me that, which I was lother to do, for even that hath given a 
tincture of merit to the obedience of 

Your poor friend 

and servant in Christ Jesus. 

J. Donne. 



144 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



ELEGY XI. 



DEATH. 



.Language, thou art too narrow and too weak 
/ To ease us now ; great sorrows cannot speak ; 
\^If we could sigh out accents, and weep words ! 

Grief wears and lessens, that tears breath affords ; 
/ Sad hearts, the less they seem, the more they are, 
' (So guiltiest men stand mutest at the bar,) 
Not that they know not, feel not their estate, 
But extreme sense hath made them desperate ; 
Sorrow, to whom we owe all that we be, 
Tyrant in the fifth and greatest monarchy, 
Was 't that she did possess all hearts before. 
Thou hast killed her, to make thy empire more ? 
Knew'st thou some would, that knew her not, 

lament. 
As in a deluge perish the innocent ? 
Was 't not enough to have that palace won. 
But thou must raze it too, that was undone ? 
Hadst thou stayed there, and looked out at her 

eyes, 
All had adored thee, that now from thee flies ; 
For they let out more light than they took in. 
They told not when, but did the day begin ; 
She was too sapphirine and clear for thee ; 
Clay, flint, and jet now thy fit dwellings be : 
Alas! she was too pure, but not too weak ; 
Whoe'er saw crystal ordnance but would break ? 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 145 

And if we be thy conquest, by her fall 
Thou hast lost thy end, in her we perish all : * 
Or if we live, we live but to rebel, 
That know her better now, who knew her well. 
If we should vapour out, and pine and die ; 
Since she first went, that were not misery : 
She changed our world with hers : now she is gone, 
Mirth and prosperity is oppression : 
For of all moral virtues she was all 
That Ethics speak of virtues cardinal. 
Her soul was paradise ; the Cherubin 
Set to keep it was Grace, that kept out Sin: 
She had no more than let in death, for we 
All reap consumption from one fruitful tree : 
God took her hence, lest some of us should love 
Her, like that plant, him and his laws above : 
And when we tears, he mercy shed in this, 
To raise our minds to heaven, where now she is : 
Who if her virtues would have let her stay, 
, We had had a saint, have now a holiday. 
iHer heart was that strange bush, where sacred fire, 
iReligion, did not consume, but inspire 
{Such piety, so chaste use of God's day, 
That what we turn to feast, she turned to pray, 
And did prefigure here in devout taste 
The rest of her high sabbath which shall last. 
Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell, 
(For she was of that Order whence most fell,) 

* Ed. 1633, for in her perish all. 

10 



146 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Her body is left with us, lest some had said, 
She could not die, except they saw her dead ; 
For from less virtue and less beauteousness 
The gentiles framed them gods and goddesses ; 
The ravenous earth, that now woos her to be 
Earth too, will be a Lemnia ; and the tree,^i. 
That wraps that crystal in a wooden tomb,* 1 1 
Shall be took up spruce, filled with diamond Jj 
And we her sad glad friends all bear a part 
Of grief, for all would break a stoic's heart. 



AN EPITAPH ON SHAKSPEARE.f 

Renowned Chaucer, lie a thought more nigh 

To rare Beaumont ; and learned Beaumont lie 

A little nearer Spenser, to make room 

For Shakspeare in your threefold fourfold tomb ; 

To lie all four in one bed make a shift. 

For until doomsday hardly shall a fift 

Betwixt this day and that be slain, 

For w^hom your curtains need be drawn again ; 

* Mr. G. L. Craik has suggested "round" as a preferable 
reading. See Literature and Learning in England, 2d Series, 
vol. iii. 

t [These lines are by William Basse and were falsely- 
imputed to Donne, in the edition of his poems published in 
1633.] 



FUNERAL ELEGIES. 147 

But if precedency in death doth bar 

A fourth place in jour sacred sepulchre, 

Under this curled marble of thine own, 

Sleep, rare tragedian ! Shakspeare, sleep alone, 

That unto us and others it may be 

Honor hereafter to be laid by thee ! 



A HY^IN TO THE SAINTS, AND TO MAR- 
QUESS HA]\HLTON. 

Whether that soul, which now comes up to you, 

Fill any former rank, or make a new, 

Whether it take a name named there before. 

Or be a name itself, and order more 

Than was in heaven till now ; (for may not he 

Be so, if every several angel be 

A kind alone ;) whatever order grow 

Greater by him in heaven, we do not so. 

One of your orders grows by his access, 

But by his loss grow all our orders less : 

The name of father, master, friend, the name 

Of subject and of prince, in one is lame ; 

Fair mirth is damp and conversation black. 

The household widowed, and the Garter slack ; 

The chapel wants an ear, council a tongue, 

Story a theme, and music lacks a song. 



148 FUNERAL ELEGIES. 

Blest order, that hath him ! the loss of him 
Gangrened all orders here ; all lost a limb ! 
Never made body such haste to confess 
What a soul was ; all former comeliness 
Fled in a minute, when the soul was gone, 
And, having lost that beauty, would have none : 
So fell our monasteries, in an instant grown. 
Not to less houses, but to heaps of stone ; 
So sent his body that fair form it wore, 
Unto the sphere of forms, and doth (before 
His soul shall fill up his sepulchral stone) ' 
Anticipate a resurrection ; 
For, as in his fame, now, his soul is here. 
So in the form thereof his body is there. 
And if, fair soul, not with first innocents 
Thy station be, but with the penitents ; 
(And who shall dare to ask then, when I am 
Dyed scarlet in the blood of that pure Lamb, 
"Whether that color, which is scarlet then. 
Were black or white before in eyes of men ?) 
When thou rememberest what sins thou didst find 
Amongst those many friends now left behind. 
And seest such sinners as they are, with thee 
Got thither by repentance, let it be 
Thy wish to wish all there, to wish them clean : 
With him a David, her a Magdalen. 



EKD OF FUNERAL ELEGIES. 



DIVINE POEMS, 



HOLY SOXXETS. 

I. LA CORONA. 

Deigx. at my hands this crown of prayer and praise, 
Weaved in my lone devout melancholy, 
Thou, which of good hast, yea, art treasury, 
All-changing unchanged, Ancient of days ; 
But do not with a vile crown of frail bays 
Eeward my^Mus^Vwhite^incerity, 
But what thy thorny crown gained, that give me, 
A crown of glory, which doth flower always. 
The ends crown our works, but thou crown'st our 

ends, 
For at our ends begins our endless rest ; 
The first last end now zealously possest, 
With a strong sober thirst, my soul attends. 
'Tis time that heart and voice be lifted high, 
Salvation to all that will is nigh. 

II. AXNUXCIATIOJs. 

Salvation to all that will is nigh; 
That All, which always is all everywhere, 
Which cannot sin, and jet all sins must bear. 
Which cannot die, yet cannot choose but die, 
Lo, faithful Virgin, yields himself to lie 
In prison in thy womb ; and though he there 



152 DIVINE POEMS. 

Can take no sin, nor thou give, yet he '11 wear, 
Taken from thence, flesh, which Death's force 

may try. 
Ere by the spheres time was created, thou 
Wast in his mind (who is thy son and brother. 
Whom thou conceiv'st) conceived ; yea, thou art 

now 
Thy Maker's maker, and thy Father's mother. 
Thou 'st light in dark, and shut in little room 
Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb. 

III. NATIVITY. 

Immensity, cloistered in thy dear womb. 
Now leaves his well-beloved imprisonment, 
There he hath made himself to his intent 
Weak enough, now into our world to come ; 
But oh, for thee, for him, hath the inn no room ? 
Yet lay him in this stall, and from the Orient 
Stars and wise men will travel, to prevent 
The effect of Herod's jealous general doom. 
Seest thou, my soul, with thy faith's eye, how he. 
Which fills all place, yet none holds him, doth lie ? 
Was not his pity towards thee wondrous high, 
That would have need to be pitied by thee ? 
Kiss him, and with him into Egypt go, 
With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe. 

IV. TEMPLE. 

With his kind mother, who partakes thy woe, 
Joseph, turn back ; see where your child doth sit 



DIVINE POEMS. 153 

Blowing, yea, blowing out those sparks of wit. 
Which himself on the Doctors did bestow ; 
The Word but lately could not speak, and lo 
It suddenly speaks wonders : whence comes it, 
That all which was, and all which should be writ, 
A shallow-seeming child should deeply know ? 
His Godhead was not soul to his Manhood, 
Nor had time mellowed him to this ripeness ; 
But as for one which hath a long task, 'tis good 
With the sun to begin his business, 
He in his age's morning thus began, 
By miracles exceeding power of man. 

V. MIRACLES. 

By miracles exceeding power of man 

He faith in some, envy in some begat, 

For, what weak spirits admire, ambitious hate ; 

In both affections many to him ran. 

But oh ! the worst are most, they will and can, 

Alas ! and do, unto the immaculate. 

Whose creature Fate is, now prescribe a fate, 

Measuring self-life's infinity to a span, 

Nay, to an inch. Lo, where condemned he 

Bears his own cross with pain ; yet by and by, 

When it bears him, he must bear more and die. 

Now thou art lifted up, draw me to thee, 

And, at thy death giving such liberal dole, 

Moist with one drop of thy blood my dry soul. 



154 DIVINE POEMS. 

VI. RESURRECTION. 

Moist with one drop of thy blood, my dry soul 
Shall (though she now be in extreme degree 
Too stony-hard, and yet too fleshly) be 
Freed by that drop, from being starved, hard, or 

foul; 
And life, by this death abled, shall control 
Death, whom thy death. slew; nor shall to me 
Fear of first or last death bring misery, 
If in thy life's * book my name thou enroll : 
Flesh in that long sleep is not putrefied. 
But made that there, of which, and for which, 't was, 
Nor can by other means be glorified. 
May then sin sleep, and death soon from me pass. 
That, waked from both, I again risen may 
Salute the last and everlasting day. 

VII. ascension. 
Salute the last and everlasting day, 
Joy at the uprising of this Sun and Son, 
Ye, whose just f tears or tribulation 
Have purely washed or burnt your drossy clay ; 
Behold the Highest, parting hence away. 
Lightens the dark clouds, which he treads upon. 
Nor doth he by ascending shew alone, 
But first he, and he first, enters the way. 
O stronsr Ram, which hast battered heaven for me, 



* Var. little, Ed. 1633; life, Ed. 1635. 
t Var. true, Ed. 1635. 



DIYINE POEilS. 155 

Mild Lamb, which with thy blood hast marked 

the path, 
Bright torch, which shin'st, that I the way may see, 
Oh ! with thy own blood quench thy own just wrath : 
And if thy holy Spirit my Muse did raise, 
Deign at my hands this crown of prayer and praise I 

VIII. 

Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay ? 
Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste ; 
I run to Death, and Death meets me as fast, 
And all my pleasures are like yesterday. 
I dare not move my dim eyes any way, 
Despair behind, and Death before doth cast 
Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste 
By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh : 
Only thou art above, and when towards thee 
By thy leave I can look, I rise again ; 
But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, 
That not one hour myself I can sustain ; 
Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art. 
And thou like adamant draw mine iron heart. 

IX. 

As due by many titles, I resign 

Myself to thee, God. First I was made 

By thee and for thee, and, when I was decayed, 

Thy blood bought that the which before was thine ; 

I am thy son, made with thyself to shine. 

Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, 



156 DIVINE POEMS. 

Thy sheep, thine image, and, till I betrayed 
Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. 
Why doth the devil then usurp on me ? 
Why doth he steal, nay, ravish that's thy right ? 
Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, 
Oh ! I shall soon despair, when I shall* see [me, 
That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose 
And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. 



Oh ! might these sighs and tears return again 

Into my breast and eyes, which I have spent. 

That I might in this holy discontent 

Mourn wdth some fruit, as I have mourned in vain ; 

In mine idolatry what showers of rain [rent ! 

Mine eyes did waste ! what griefs my heart did 

That sufferance was my sin I now repent ; 

'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. 

The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouring thief. 

The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud. 

Have th' remembrance of past joys, for relief 

Of coming ills. To (poor) me is allowed 

No ease ; for long, yet vehement grief hath been 

The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. 

XI. 

O! MY black soul, now thou art summoned 
By sickness, Death's herald and champion, 

* Var. do. 



DIVINE POEMS. 157 

Thou 'rt like a pilgrim, which abroad hath done 
Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled ; 
Or like a thief, which, till Death's doom be read, 
Wisheth himself delivered from prison ; 
But, damned and hauled to execution, 
Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned ; 
Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack ; 
But who shall give thee that grace to begin ? 
0, make thyself with holy mourning black. 
And red with blushing, as thou art with sin ; 
Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this 

might, 
That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. 



I AM a little world, made cunningly 

Of elements and an angelic spright ; 

But black sin hath betrayed to endless night 

My world's both parts, and (oh) both parts must 

die. [liigtij 

You, which beyond that heaven, which was most 
Have found new spheres, and of new land can 

write, 
Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might 
Drown my world with my weeping earnestly ; 
Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more : 
But oh it must be burnt ; alas ! the fire 
Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore. 
And made it fouler : Let their flames retire, 



158 DIVINE POEMS. 

And burn me, Lord, with a fiery zeal 

Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. 



This is my play's last scene ; here heavens ap- 
point 
My pilgrimage's last mile ; and my race. 
Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, 
My span's last inch, my minute's latest point ; 
And gluttonous death will instantly unjoint 
My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space ; 
But my ever-waking part shall see that face. 
Whose fear already shakes my every joint : 
Then, as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes 

flight. 
And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell. 
So fall my sins, that all may have their right, 
To where they're bred, and would press me to 

hell. 
Impute me righteous, thus purged of evil. 
For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. 



XIV. 

At the round earth's imagined corners blow 

Your trumpets. Angels, and arise, arise 

From death, you numberless infinities 

Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, 

All whom th' flood did, and fire shall, overthrow ; 



DIVINE POEMS. 159 

All whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, 
Despair, law, chance hath slain ; and you whose 

eyes 
Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe ; 
But let them sleep. Lord, and me mourn a space ; 
For, if above all these my sins abound, 
'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace. 
When we are there. Here on this lowly ground 
Teach me how to repent ; for that's as good. 
As if thou 'd'st sealed my pardon with thy blood. 

XV. 

If faithful souls be alike glorified 

As angels, then my father's soul doth see, 

And adds this even to full felicity. 

That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride : 

But if our minds to these souls be descried 

By circumstances and by signs, that be 

Apparent in us not immediately. 

How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried ? 

They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, 

And stile * blasphemous conjurers to call 

On Jesus' name, and Pharisaical 

Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, 

O pensive soul, to God ; for he knows best 

Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. 

* I think this clearly ought to be " still," but as there may- 
be a meaning which I have not found, I leave the text as it is. 



160 DIVINE POEMS. 



XVI. 

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, 
Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, 
If lecherous goats, if serpents envious 
Cannot be damned, alas ! why should I be ? 
Why should intent or reason, born in me, 
Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous ? 
And mercy being easy and glorious 
To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he ? 
But who am I, that dare dispute with thee ? 

God, oh ! of thine only worthy blood. 

And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood. 

And drown in it my sin's black memory : 

That thou remember them, some claim as debt ; 

1 think it mercy, if thou wilt forget. 



Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ; 
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow, 
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must 

flow: 
And soonest our best men with thee do go, 
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 
Thou 'rt slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and des- 
perate men, 



DIVINE POEMS. 161 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, 
And better than thy stroke, why swell'st thou then ? 
One short sleep past, we wake eternally. 
And Death shall be no more ; Death, thou shalt die. 



Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side. 
Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify me : 
For I have sinned and sinned ; and only he. 
Who could do no iniquity, hath died : 
But by my death cannot be satisfied 
My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety : 
They killed once an inglorious man, but I 
Crucify him daily, being now glorified. 
O, let me then his strange love still admire : 
Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment ; 
And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire. 
But to supplant, and with gainful intent ; 
God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so 
He mightibe weak enough to suffer woe. 

XIX. 

Why are we by all creatures waited on ? 
Why do the prodigal elements supply 
Life and food to me, being more pure than I, 
Simpler, and further from corruption ? 
Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection ? 
Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily 
Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, 
11 



162 DIYINE POEMS. 

Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed 

upon? 
Weaker I am, woe's me ! and worse than you ; 
You have not sinned, nor need be timorous ; 
But wonder at a greater,* for to us 
Created nature doth these things subdue ; 
But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, 
For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. 



What if this present were the world's last night ? 
Mark in my heart, Soul, where thou dost dwell, 
The picture of Christ crucified, and tell 
Whether his countenance can thee affright ; 
Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light. 
Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head 

fell; 
And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell. 
Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite ? 
No, no ; but as in my idolatry 
I said to all my profane mistresses, » 
Beauty of pity, foulness only is 
A sign of rigor ; so I say to thee ; 
To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned, 
This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. 

XXI. 

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you 

As yet but knock ; breathe, shine, and seek to mend ; 

^ Var. at a greater wonder, Ed. 1633. 



DIVINE POEMS. 163 

That I may rise and stand ; o'erthrow me, and bend 
Your force, to break, blow, burn, and make me new. 
I, like a usurpt town to another due, 
Labour to admit you, but oh, to no end ; 
Reason, your victory in me, me should defend, 
But is captived, and proves weak or untrue ; 
Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, 
But am betrothed unto your enemy : 
Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again, 
Take me to you, imprison me, for I, 
Except you 'enthral me, never shall be free ; 
Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. 

XXII. 

Wilt thou love God, as he thee ? then digest, 
My Soul, this wholesome meditation. 
How God the Spirit, by angels waited on 
In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast ; 
The Father having begot a Son most blest, 
And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun,) 
Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, 
Coheir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest. 
And as a robbed man, which by search doth find 
His stolen stuff sold, must lose or buy it again, 
The sun of glory came down, and was slain. 
Us, whom he had made and Satan stole, to unbind. 
'Twas much, that man was made like God before ; 
But, that God should be made like man, much 
more. 



164 DIVINE POEMS. 



XXIII. 

Father, part of his double interest 

Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me ; 

His jointure in the knotty Trinity 

He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. 

This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath 

blest. 
Was from the world's beginning slain ; and he 
Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy 
Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest : 
Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet. 
Whether a man those statutes can fulfil ; 
None doth ; but thy all-healing grac-e and Spirit 
Revive again what law and letter kill : 
Thy law's abridgment and thy last command 
Is all but love ; O, let this last will stand ! 



ON THE BLESSED YIKGIN MARY. 

In that, Queen of queens, thy birth was free 
From that which others doth of grace bereave, 
When in their mother's womb they life receive, 

God, as his sole-bom daughter, loved thee. 

To match thee like thy birth's nobility. 

He thee his Spirit for his spouse did leave, 



DIVINE POEMS. 165 

By whom thou didst his only Son conceive, 
And so wast linked to all the Trinity. 

Cease then, O queens, that earthly crowns do 
wear, 
To glory in the pomp of earthly things ; 
If men such high respects unto you bear, 

Which daughters, wives, and mothers are of 
kings, 
What honour can unto that Queen be done, 
Who had your God for Father, Spouse, and Son ? 



THE CKOSS. 

Since Christ embraced the Cross itself, dare I, 
His image, the image of his Cross deny ? 
Would I have profit by the sacrifice, 
And dare the chosen altar to despise ? 
It bore all other sins, but is it fit 
That it should bear the sin of scorning it ? 
Who from the picture would avert his eye. 
How would he fly his pains, who there did die ? 
From me no pulpit, nor misgrounded law, 
Nor scandal taken, shall this Cross withdraw ; 
It shall not, for it cannot ; for the loss 
Of this Cross were to me another Cross ; 



166 DIVINE POEMS. 

Better were worse, for no affliction, 

No cross is so extreme, as to have none. 

Who can blot out the Cross, which the instrument 

Of God dewed on me in the Sacrament ? 

Who can deny me power and liberty 

To stretch mine arms, and mine own Cross to be ? 

Swim, and at every stroke thou art thy Cross ; 

The mast and yard make one, where seas do toss ; 

Look down, thou spiest out crosses in small things ; 

Look up, thou seest birds raised on crossed wings. 

All the globe's frame and spheres is nothing else 

But the meridian's crossing parallels. 

Material crosses then good physic be ; 

But yet spiritual have chief dignity ; 

These for extracted chemic medicine serve. 

And cure much better, and as well preserve ; 

Then are you your own physic, or need none. 

When 'stilled or purged by tribulation : 

For, when that cross ungrudged unto you sticks, 

Then are you to yourself a crucifix. 

As perchance carvers do not faces make. 

But that away, which hid them there, do take : 

Let crosses so take what hid Christ in thee. 

And be his image, or not his, but he. 

But as oft alchemists do coiners prove. 

So may a self-despising get self-love ; 

And then, as worst surfeits of best meats be. 

So is pride, issued from humility ; 

For 'tis no child, but monster : therefore cross 

Your joy in crosses, else, 'tis double loss; 



DIVINE POEMS. 167 

And cross thy senses, else both they and thou 
Must perish soon, and to destruction bow. 
For if the eye seek good objects, and will take 
No cross from bad, we cannot 'scape a snake. 
So with harsh, hard, sour, stinking, cross the rest, 
Make them indifferent ; call nothing best.* 
But most the eye needs crossing ; that can roam 
And move ; to the others objects must come home. 
And cross thy heart ; for that in man alone 
Pants downwards, and hath palpitation. 
Cross those detorsions,t when it downward tends, 
And when it to forbidden heights pretends. 
And as the brain through bony walls doth vent 
By sutures, which a cross's form present, 
So when thy brain works, ere thou utter it. 
Cross and correct concupiscence of wit. 
Be covetous of crosses, let none fall : 
Cross no man else, but cross thyself in all. 
Then doth the cross of Christ work faithfully 
Within our hearts, when we love harmlessly 
The Cross's pictures much, and with more care 
That Cross's children, which our crosses are. 

* Var. Make them indifferent; all, nothing best, Ed. 1635. 
t Var. dejections, Ed. 1633. 



168 DIVINE POEMS. 



PSALM 137. 

I. 

By Euphrates' flowery side 

We did bide, 
From dear Judah far absented, 
Tearing the air with our cries, 

And our eyes 
With their streams his stream augmented. 

II. 
When poor Sion's doleful state, 

Desolate, 
Sacked, burned, and enthralled ; 
And the Temple spoiled, which we 

Ne'er should see. 
To our mirthless minds we called : 

III. 
Our mute harps, untuned, unstrung, 

Up we hung 
On green willows near beside us ; 
Where we sitting all forlorn. 

Thus in scorn 
Our proud spoilers 'gan deride us. 



DIVINE POEMS. 
IV. 

Come, sad captives, leave your moans, 

And your groans 
Under Sion's ruins bury ; 
Tune your harps, and sing us lays 

In the praise 
Of your God, and let's be merry. 

V. 

Cax, ah ! can we leave our moans ? 

And our groans 
Under Sion's ruins bury ? 
Can we in this land sing lays 

In the praise 
Of our God, and here be merry ? 

VI. 

No ; dear Sion, if I yet 

Do forget 
Thine affliction miserable, 
Let my nimble joints become 

Stiff and numb, 
To touch warbling harp unable. 

VII. 

Let my tongue lose singing skill, 

Let it still 
To my parched roof be glued ; 
If in either harp or voice 

I rejoice. 
Till thy joys shall be renewed. 



170 DIYINE POEMS. 

VIII. 

Lord, curse Edom's traitorous kind, 

Bear in mind, 
In our ruins how they revelled : 
Sack, kill, hum, they cried out still. 

Sack, hum, kill, 
Down with all, let all he levelled! 



And thou. Babel, when the tide 

Of thy pride. 
Now aflowing, grows to turning ; 
Victor now, shall then be thrall. 

And shall fall 
To as low an ebb of mourning. 

X. 

Happy he, who shall thee waste. 

As thou hast 
Us without all mercy wasted, 
And shall make thee taste and see, 

What poor we 
By thy means have seen and tasted. 

XI. 

Happy, who thy tender barns 

From the arms 
Of their wailing mothers tearing, 
'Gainst the walls shall dash their bones. 

Ruthless stones 
"With their brains and blood besmearing. 



DIVINE POEMS. 171 



RESUEKECTIOI^, BIPERFECT. 

Sleep, sleep, old sun, thou canst not have re-past 
As yet the wound, thou took'st on Friday last ; 
Sleep then, and rest, the world may bear thy stay ; 
A better sun rose before thee to-day. 
Who, not content t' enlighten all that dwell 
On the earth' s face, as thou, enlightened hell, 
And made the dark fires languish in that vale, 
As at thy presence here our fires grow pale ; 
Whose body having walked on earth, and now 
Hastening to Heaven, would, that he might allow 
Himself unto ail stations, and fill all. 
For these three days become a mineral. 
He was all gold, when he lay down, but rose 
All tincture ; and doth not alone dispose 
Leaden and iron wills to good, but is 
Of power to make even sinful flesh like his. 
Had one of those, whose credulous piety 
Thought that a soul one might discern and see 
Go from a body, at this sepulchre been, 
And issuing from the sheet this body seen. 
He would have justly thought this body a soul, 
If not of any man, yet of the whole. 

Desunt ccetera. 



172 DIVINE POEMS. 



THE ANNUNCIATION AND PASSION. 

Tamely, frail body,* abstain to-day ; to-day 

My soul eats twice, Christ hither and away ; 

She sees him man, so like God made in this, 

That of them both a circle emblem is, 

"Whose first and last concur ; this doubtful day 

Of feast or fast Christ came, and went away. 

She sees him nothing twice at once, who's all ; 

She sees a cedar plant itself, and fall ; 

Her Maker put to making, and the head 

Of life, at once not yet alive, and dead ; 

She sees at once the Virgin-mother stay 

Recluse d at home, public at Golgotha. 

Sad and rejoiced she's seen at once, and seen 

At almost fifty and at scarce fifteen : 

At once a son is promised her, and gone ; 

Gabriel gives Christ to her, He her to John : 

Not fully a mother, she's in orbity. 

At once receiver and the legacy. 

All this, and all between, this day hath shown, 

The abridgment of Christ's story, which makes one 

(As in plain maps the furthest West is East) 

Of the angel's Ave, and consummatum est, 

* Var. flesh, Ed. 1635. 



DIVINE POEMS. 173 

How well the Church, God's Court of Faculties, 

Deals in sometimes and seldom joining these ! 

As bj the self-fixed Pole we never do 

Direct our course, but the next star thereto, 

Which shows where the other is, and which we say 

(Because it strays not far) doth never stray, 

So God by his Church, nearest to him, we know, 

And stand firm, if we by her motion go ; 

His Spirit as his fiery pillar doth 

Lead, and his Church as cloud ; to one end both. 

This Church, by letting those days* join, hath 

shown 
Death and conception in mankind are one ; 
Or 'twas in him the same humility, 
That he would be a man and leave to be. 
Or as creation he hath made, as God, 
With the last judgment but one period, 
His imitating spouse would join in one 
Manhood's extremes : he shall come, he is gone. 
Or as, though one blood-drop which thence did fall, 
Accepted, would have served, he yet shed all. 
So, though the least of his pains, deeds, or words, 
Would busy a life, she all this day affords. 
This treasure then in gross, my soul, up-lay, 
And in my life retail it every day. 

^Var. feasts, Ed. 1635. 



174 DIVINE POEMS. 



GOODFRIDAY, 1613, EIDING WESTWARD. 

Let man's soul be a sphere, and then in this 
The intelligence that moves, devotion is ; 
And as the other spheres, by being grown 
Subject to foreign motion, lose their own, 
And being by others hurried every day. 
Scarce in a year their natural form obey, 
Pleasure or business so our souls admit 
For their first mover, and are whirled by it. 
Hence is't, that I am carried towards the West 
This day, when my soul's form bends towards the 

East ; 
There I should see a sun by rising set. 
And, by that setting, endless day beget. 
But that Christ on this cross did rise and fall. 
Sin had eternally benighted all ; 
Yet dare I almost be glad I do not see 
That spectacle of too much weight for me. 
Who sees God's face, that is self-life, must die ; 
What a death were it then to see God die ? 
It made his own lieutenant. Nature, shrink. 
It made his footstool crack, and the sun wink. 
Could I behold those hands which span the poles 
And tune all spheres at once, pierced with those 

holes ? 



DIVINE POEMS. 175 

Could I belaold that endless height which is 
Zenith to us, and our antipodes, 
Humbled below us ? or that blood which is 
The seat of all our souls, if not of his, 
Made dirt of dust ? or that flesh, which was worn 
By God for his apparel, ragg'd and torn ? 
If on these things I durst not look, durst I 
On his distressed* mother cast mine eje, 
"Who was God's partner here, and furnished thus 
Half of that sacrifice, which ransomed us ? 
Though these things, as I ride, be from mine eye, 
They 're present yet unto my memory. 
For that looks towards them ; and thou look'st 
towards me, 

Saviour, as thou hang'st upon the tree ; 

1 turn my back to thee, but to receive 
Corrections, till thy mercies bid thee leave. 
O think me worth thine anger, punish me. 
Burn off my rusts, and my deformity ; 
Restore thine image so much by thy grace. 
That thou may'st know me, and I '11 turn my face. 

^Var. Tipoa his miserable, Ed. 1633. 



176 DIVINE POEMS. 



THE LITANY: 

I. THE FATHEE. 

Father of Heaven, and him by whom 
It, and us for it, and all else for us 
Thou mad'st and govern'st ever, come, 
And recreate me, now grown ruinous : 
My heart is by dejection clay, 
And by self-murder red. 
From this red earth, 0, Father, purge away 
All vicious tinctures, that new fashioned 
I may rise up from death, before I am dead. 

II. THE SON. 

O Son of God, who seeing two things. 
Sin and Death, crept in, which were never made, 

By bearing one, triedst with what stings 
The other could thine heritage invade ; 
O, be thou nailed unto my heart, 
And crucified again ; 
Part not from it, though it from thee would part, 
But let it be, by applying so thy pain. 
Drowned in thy blood, and in thy passion slain. 

III. THE HOLT GHOST. 

O Holy Ghost, whose temple I 
Am, but of mud walls and condensed dust, 



DIVINE POEMS. 177 

And being sacrilegiously 
Half-wasted with youth's fires, of pride and lust, 

Must with new storms be weather-beat. 

Double in my heart thy flame. 
Which let devout sad tears intend ; and let 
(Though this glass lantern, flesh, do suffer maim) 
Fire, sacrifice, priest, altar be the same. 

IV. THE TRINITY. 

O BLESSED, glorious Trinity, 
Bones to Philosophy, but milk to Faith, 

Which, as wise serpents, diversely 
Most slipperiness, yet most entanglings hath. 
As you distinguished (undistinct) 
By power, love, knowledge be. 
Give me a such self-different instinct. 
Of these let all me elemented be, 
Of power to love, to know you, unnumbered Three. 

V. THE VIRGIN MART. 

For that fair, blessed, mother-maid, 

Whose flesh redeemed us, — That she-cherubin. 

Which unlocked Paradise, and made 
One claim for innocence, and disseized sin, — 

Whose womb was a strange heaven, for there 
God clothed himself, and grew, — 
Our zealous thanks we pour. As her deeds were 
Our helps, so are her prayers ; nor can she sue 
In vain, who hath such titles unto you. 
12 



178 DIVINE POEMS. 

VI. THE ANGELS. 

And since this life our nonage is, 
And we in wardship to thine angels be, 

Native in heaven's fair palaces, 
Where we shall be but denizened by thee ; 

As the earth, conceiving by the sun, 

Yields fair diversity, 
Yet never knows which course that light doth run, 
So let me study, that mine actions be 
Worthy their sight, though blind in how they see. 

VII. THE PATRIARCHS. 

And let thy patriarchs' desire 
(Those great-grandfathers of thy Church, which 
saw 
More in the cloud, than we in fire. 
Whom Nature cleared more, than us grace and law, 
And now in heaven still pray, that we 
May use our new helps right) 
Be satisfied,* and fructify in me ; 
Let not my mind be blinder by more light. 
Nor Faith, by Reason added, lose her sight. 

VIII. THE PROPHETS. 

Thy eagle-sighted prophets, too, 
(Which were thy Church's organs, and did sound 

That harmony, which made of two 
One law, and did unite, but not confound, — 
Those heavenly poets, which did see 

* Var. sanctified. Ed. 1633. 



DIVIXE POEMS. 179 

Thy will, and it express 
In rhythmic feet,) in common pray for me, 
That I by them excuse not my excess 
In seeking secrets, or poeticness. 

IX. THE APOSTLES. 

AxD thy illustrious zodiac 
Of twelve apostles, which engirt this All, 

(From whom whosoe'er do not take 
Their light, to dark deep pits thrown down do fall,) 
As through their prayers thou hast let me 

know, 
That their books are divine, 
May they pray still, and be heard, that I go 
The old broad way in applying ; 0, decline 
Me, when my comment would make thy word mine. 

X. THE MAETTES. 

And since thou so desirously 
Didst long to die, that long before thou could'st, 

And long since thou no more could'st die. 
Thou in thy scattered mystic body would'st 
In Abel die, and ever since 
In thine ; let their blood come 
To beg for us a discreet patience 
Of death, or of worse Hfe ; for, oh ! to some 
Not to be martyrs is a martyrdom. 

XI. THE COXFESSOKS. 

Therefore with thee triumpheth there 
A virgin squadron of white confessors, 



180 DIVINE POEMS. 

Whose bloods betrothed, not married, were ; 
Tendered, not taken by those ravishers : 

They know, and pray, that we may know ; 

Tn every Christian 
Hourly tempestuous persecutions grow ; 
Temptations martyr us alive ; a man 
Is to himself a Diocletian. 

XII. THE VIRGINS. 

The cold, white, snowy nunnery, 
(Which, as thy mother, their high abbess, sent 

Their bodies back again to thee. 
As thou hadst lent them, clean and innocent,) 
Though they have not obtained of thee, 
That or thy Church, or I, 
Should keep, as they, our first integrity. 
Divorce thou sin in us, or bid it die, 
And call chaste widowhead virginity. 

XIII. THE DOCTOKS. 

Thy* sacred academe above 
Of doctors, whose pains have unclasped and taught 

Both books of life to us, (for love 
To know thy scripturesf tells us, we are wrote 
In thy other book,) pray for us there. 
That what they have misdone, 
Or missaid, we to that may not adhere ; 
Their zeal may be our sin. Lord, let us run 
Mean ways, and call them stars, but not the sun. 

* Var. the. f Var. the scriptures, Ed. 1635. 






DIVINE POEMS. 181 

XIV. 

And whilst this universal choir 
(That church in triumph, this in warfare here, 

Warmed with one all-partaking fire 
Of love, that none be lost, which cost thee dear) 
Prajs ceaselessly, and thou hearken too, 
(Since to be gracious 
Our task is treble, to pray, bear, and do,) 
Hear this prayer, Lord ; O Lord, deliver us 
From trusting in those prayers, though poured out 
thus. 

XV. 

From being anxious, or secure. 
Dead clods of sadness, or light squibs of mirth, — 

From thinking, that great courts immure 
All or no happiness, or that this earth 
Is only for our prison framed. 
Or that thou 'rt covetous 
To them thou lovest, or that they are maimed, 
From reaching this world's sweets, who seek thee 

thus 
With all their might, good Lord, deliver us. 



From needing danger to be good, 
From owing thee yesterday's tears to-day. 

From trusting so much to thy blood. 
That in that hope we wound our souls away 
From bribing thee with alms, t' excuse 
Some sin more burdenous, — 



182 DIVINE POEMS. 

From light affecting, in religion, news. 
From thinking us all foul, neglecting thus 
Our mutual duties, Lord, deliver us. 



From tempting Satan to tempt us. 
By our connivance, or slack company, — 

From measuring ill by vicious, 
Neglecting to choke sin's spawn, vanity, — 
From indiscreet humility, 
Which might be scandalous, 
And cast reproach on Christianity, — 
From being spies, or to spies pervious, — 
From thirst or scorn of fame, deliver us. 



Deliver us through thy descent 
Into the Virgin, whose womb was a place 

Of middle kind, and thou being sent 
To ungracious us, strayed'st as her full grace, — 
And through thy poor birth, where first thou 
Glorified'st poverty, 
And yet soon after riches didst allow. 
By accepting kings' gifts in the Epiphany, 
Deliver, and make us to both ways free. 

XIX. 

And through that bitter agony. 
Which still is the agony of pious wits. 
Disputing what distorted thee. 



DIVINE POEMS. 183 

And interrupted evenness with fits, — 
And through thy free confession, 
Though thereby they were then 

Made blind, so that thou might'st from them have 
gone, 

Good Lord, deliver us, and teach us when 

We may not, and we may, blind unjust men. 



Through thy submitting all to blows 
Thy face, thy robes * to spoil, thy fame to scorn, — 

All ways, which rage or justice knows. 
And by which thou could'st show that thou wast 
born, — 
And through thy gallant humbleness, 
Which thou in death didst show, 
Dying before thy soul they could express, — 
Deliver us from death, by dying so 
To this world, ere this world do bid us go. 



When senses, which thy soldiers are. 
We arm against thee, and they fight for sin, — 

When want, sent but to tame, doth war. 
And work Despair a breach to enter in, — 
When plenty, God's image and seal. 
Makes us idolatrous, 
And love it, not him whom it should reveal, — 

* Var. clothes. 



184 DIVINE POEMS. 

When we are moved to seem religious, 
Only to vent wit, Lord, deliver us. 



In Churches when the infirmity 
Of him which speaks, diminishes the Word, — 

When magistrates do misapply 
To us, as we judge, lay or ghostly sword, — 
When plague, which is thine angel, reigns, 
Or wars, thy champions, sway, — 
When Heresy, thy second deluge, gains, — 
In the hour of death, the eve of last judgment day, 
Deliver us from the sinister way. 



Hear us, O hear us, Lord : to thee 
A sinner is more music, when he prays, 

Than spheres, or angels' praises be 
In panegyric Allelujas, 

Hear us ; for till thou hear us. Lord, 
We know not what to say : 
Thine ear to our sighs, tears, thoughts, gives 

voice and word. 
thou, who Satan heard'st in Job's sick day, 
Hear thyself now, for thou in us dost pray. 

XXIV. 

That we may change to evenness 
This intermitting aguish piety, — 
That snatching cramps of wickedness, 



DIVINE POEMS. 185 

And apoplexies of fast sin may die, — 

That music of thy promises, 

Not threats in thunder, may 
Awaken us to our just otfices, — 
What in thy book thou dost, or creatures say. 
That we may hear, Lord, hear us, when we pray. 

XXT. 

That out ears' sickness we may cure, 
And rectify those labyrinths aright, — 
That we by hearkening not procure 
Our praise, nor others' dispraise so invite, — 
That we get not a slipperiness, 
And senselessly decline. 
From hearing bold wits jest at kings' excess. 
To admit the like of majesty divine, — 
That we may lock our ears. Lord, open thine. 

XXVI. 

That living law, the magistrate. 
Which, to give us and make us physic, doth 

Our vices often aggravate, — 
That preachers, taxing sin before her growth, 
That Satan, and envenomed men. 
Which will, if we starve, dine, 
When they do most accuse us, may see then 
Us to amendment hear them thee decline, — 
That we may open our ears. Lord, lock thine. 



186 DIVINE POEMS. 



That learning, thine ambassador, 
From thine allegiance we never tempt, — 

That beauty, paradise's flower, 
For physic made, from poison be exempt, — 
That wit, born apt high good to do. 
By dwelling lazily 
On Nature's nothing, be not nothing too, — 
That our affections kill us not, nor die, — 
Hear us, weak echoes, O, thou ear, and cry. 



Son of God, hear us; and since thou, 
By taking our blood, ow'st it us again. 

Gain to thyself and us allow ; 
And let not both us and thyself be slain. 
O Lamb of God, which took'st our sin, 
Which could not stick to thee, 
O let it not return to us again ; 
But patient and physician being free, 
As sin is nothing, let it nowhere be. 



DIVINE POEMS. 187 



UPON THE TRANSLATION OF THE PSALMS 
BY SIR PHILIP SYDNEY, AND THE COUN- 
TESS OF PEMBROKE HIS SISTER. 

Eternal God, (for whom whoever dare 
Seek new expressions, do the circle square, 
And thrust into strait corners of poor wit 
Thee, who art cornerless and infinite,) 
I would but bless thy name, not name thee now ; 
(And thy gifts are as infinite as thou ;) 
Fix we our praises therefore on this one, 
That as thy blessed Spirit fell upon 
These psalms' first author in a cloven tongue, 
(For 'twas a double power by which he sung, 
The highest matter in the noblest form,) 
So thou hast cleft that Spirit, to perform 
That work again, and shed it here upon 
Two by their bloods, and by thy Spirit one ; 
A brother and a sister, made by thee 
The organ, where thou art the harmony ; 
Two, that made one John Baptist's holy voice, 
And who that psalm, Now let the Isles rejoice, 
Have both translated, and applied it too. 
Both told us what, and taught us how to do. 
They show us islanders our joy, our king. 
They tell us why, and teach us how to sing. 



188 DIVINE POEMS. 

Make all this all, three choirs, heaven, earth, and 

spheres ; 
The first, Heaven, hath a song, but no man hears ; 
The spheres have music, but they have no tongue, 
Their harmony is rather danced than sung ; 
But our third choir, to which the first gives ear, 
(For angels learn by what the church does here,) 
This choir hath all. The organist is he. 
Who hath tuned God and Man ; the organ we : 
The songs are these, which heaven's high holy 

Muse 
Whispered to David, David to the Jews, 
And David's successors in holy zeal, 
In forms of joy and art do re-reveal 
To us so sweetly and sincerely, too. 
That I must not rejoice as I would do. 
When I behold, that these psalms are become 
So well attired abroad, so ill at home ; 
So well in chambers, in thy church so ill, 
As I can scarce call that reformed, until 
This be reformed. Would a whole state present 
A lesser gift than some one man hath sent ? 
And shall our Church unto our spouse and king 
More hoarse, more harsh than any other, sing ? 
For that we pray, we praise thy name for this, 
Which by this Moses and this Miriam is 
Already done ; and as those psalms we call 
(Though some have other authors) David's all, 
So though some have, some may some psalms 

translate, 



DIVINE POEMS. 189 

We thy Sjdnean psalms shall celebrate ; 
And, till we come the extemporal song to sing, 
(Learned the first hour that we see the king 
Who hath translated those translators,) may 
These, their sweet learned labors, all the way 
Be as our tuning ; that, when hence we part. 
We may fall in with them, and sing our part. 



ODE. 



Vengeance will sit above our faults ; but till 

She there do sit, 
We see her not, nor them. Thus blind, yet still 
We lead her way ; and thus, whilst we do ill. 

We suffer it. 



Unhappy he, whom youth makes not beware 

Of doing ill : 
Enough we labor under age and care ; 
In number the errors of the last place are 

The greatest still. 

III. 
Yet we, that should the ill we now begin, 
As soon repent. 



190 DIVINE POEMS. 

(Strange thing!) perceive not; our faults are not 

seen, 
But past us ; neither felt, but only in 
The punishment. 

IV. 

But we know ourselves least ; mere outward shows 

Our minds to store, 
That our souls, no more than our eyes, disclose 
But form and color. Only he who knows 

Himself, knows more. 



TO MR. TILMAN, AFTER HE HAD TAKEN 
ORDERS. 

Thou, whose diviner soul hath caused thee now 

To put thy hand unto the holy plough. 

Making lay-scornings of the ministry 

Not an impediment, but victory, 

"What bring'st thou home with thee ? how is thy 

mind 
Affected since the vintage ? Dost thou find 
New thoughts and stirrings in thee ? and, as steel 
Touched with a loadstone, dost new motions feel ? 
Or as a ship, after much pain and care. 
For iron and cloth brings home rich Indian ware. 



DIVINE POEMS. 191 

Hast thou thus trafficked, but with far more gain 
Of noble goods, and with less time and pain ? 
Thou art the same mate^rials as before, 
Only the stamp is changed, but no more. 
And as new-crowned kings alter the face, 
But not the money's substance, so hath grace 
Changed only God's old image by creation. 
To Christ's new stamp, at this thy coronation; 
Or as we paint angels with wings, because 
They bear God's message, and proclaim his laws, 
Since thou must do the like, and so must move, 
Art thou new-feathered with celestial love ? 
Dear, tell me where thy purchase lies, and show 
"What thy advantage is above, below ; 
But if thy gainings do surmount expression. 
Why doth the foolish world scorn that profession 
"Whose joys pass speech ? "Why do they think 

unfit 
That gentry should join families with it ? 
As if their day were only to be spent 
In dressing, mistressing, and compliment. 
Alas, poor joys, but poorer men, whose trust 
Seems richly placed in sublimed dust ! 
(For such are clothes and beauty, which, though 

gay, 

Are, at the best, but of sublimed clay.) 
Let then the world thy calling disrespect, 
But go thou on, and pity their neglect. 
"What function is so noble as to be 
Ambassador to God and destiny ? 



192 DIVINE POEMS. 

To open life ? to give kingdoms to more 
Than kings give dignities? to keep heaven's 

door ? 
Mary's prerogative was to bear Christ, so 
'Tis preacher's to convey him ; for they do, 
As angels out of clouds, from pulpits speak, 
And bless the poor beneath, the lame, the weak. 
If then the astronomers, whereas they spy 
A new-found star, their optics magnify, 
How brave are those, who with their engine can 
Bring man to heaven, and heaven again to 

man ? 
These are thy titles and preeminences. 
In whom must meet God's graces, men's offences ; 
And so the heavens, which beget all things here, 
And the earth, our mother, which these things 

doth bear. 
Both these in thee are in thy calling knit. 
And make thee now a blest hermaphrodite. 



DIVINE POEMS. 193 



A HYMN TO CHRIST, AT THE AUTHOR'S 
LAST GOING INTO GERMANY. 

In what torn ship soever I embark, 
That ship shall be mj emblem of thy Ark ; 
What sea soever swallow me, that flood 
Shall be to me an emblem of thy blood. 
Though thou with clouds of anger do disguise 
Thy face, yet through that mask I know those eyes, 
Which, though they turn away sometimes, 
They never will despise. 

I sacrifice this island unto thee, 

And all whom I love here, and who love me ; 

When I have put this flood * 'twixt them and me, 

Put thou thy blood f betwixt my sins and thee. 

As the tree's sap doth seek the root below 

In winter, in my winter now I go 

Where none but thee, the eternal root 
Of true love, I may know. 

Nor thou, nor thy religion, dost control 

The amorousness of a harmonious soul ; 

But thou would'st have that love thyself: as 

thou 
Art jealous, Lord, so I am jealous now. 

* Var. our seas. t Vo-^- seas. 

13 



194 DIVINE POEMS. 

Thou lov'st not, till from loving more thou free 
My soul : whoever gives, takes liberty : 
Oh, if thou car'st not whom I love, 
Alas, thou lov'st not me. 

Seal then this bill of my divorce to all 
On whom those fainter beams of love did fall ; 
Marry those loves, which in youth scattered be 
On face, wit, hopes (false mistresses) to thee. 
Churches are best for prayer that have least light ; 
To see God only, I go out of sight: 
And to 'scape stormy days, I choose 
An everlasting night. 



ON THE SACRAMENT. 

He was the Word, that spake it ; 
He took the bread and brake it ; 
And what that Word did make it ; 
I do believe and take it. 



DIVINE POEMS. 195 



THE LAMENTATIONS OF JEREMY, FOR 
THE MOST PART ACCORDING TO TRE- 
MELLIUS. 



^•How sits this city, late most populous, 
Thus solitary, and like a widow thus ? 
Amplest of nations, queen of provinces 
She was, who now thus tributary is. 

'^" Still in the night she weeps, and her tears fall 
Down by lier cheeks along, and none of all 
Her lovers comfort her ; perfidiously 
Her friends have dealt, and now are enemy. 

^' Unto great bondage and afflictions 

Juda is captive led ; those nations, 

With whom she dwells, no place of rest afford ; 

In straits she meets her persecutor's sword. 

^- Empty are the gates of Sion, and her ways 
Mourn, because none come to her solemn days : 
Her priests do groan, her maids are comfortless ; 
And she 's unto herself a bitterness. 

^" Her foes are grown her head, and live at peace ; 
Because, when her transgressions did increase, 



196 DIVINE POEMS. 

The Lord strook her with sadness : the enemy 
Doth drive her children to captivity. 

^- From Sion's daughter is all beauty gone ; 
Like harts, which seek for pasture and find none, 
Her princes are : and now before the foe, 
Which still pursues them, without strength they go. 

''• Now in their days of tears, Jerusalem 
(Her men slain by the foe, none succouring them) 
Remembers what of old she esteemed most, 
W];tilst her foes laugh at her, for which she hath 
lost. 

^' Jerusalem hath sinned, therefore is she 
Removed, as women in uncleanness be : 
Who honoured, scorn her ; for her foulness they 
Have seen ; herself doth groan, and turn away. 

^- Her foulness in her skirts was seen, yet she 
Remembered not her end ; miraculously 
Therefore she fell, none comforting : behold, 
Lord, my affliction, for the foe grows bold. 

^"- Upon all things, where her delight hath been. 
The foe hath stretched his hand ; for she hath 

seen 
Heathen, whom thou command'st should not 

do so, 
Into her holy sanctuary go. 



DIVINE POEMS. 197 

"■ And all her people groan and seek for bread ; 
And they have given, only to be fed, 
All precious things, wherein their pleasure lay : 
How cheap I am grown, Lord, behold, and 
weigh. 

'-■ All this concerns not you, who pass by me ; 
see, and mark if any sorrow be 
Like to my sorrow, which Jehovah hath 
Done to me in the day of his fierce wrath ? 

^^' That fire, which by himself is governed. 
He hath cast from heaven on my bones, and spread 
A net before my feet, and me o'erthrown ; 
And made me languish all the day alone. 

"• His hand hath of my sins framed a yoke. 
Which wreathed, and cast upon my neck, hath 

broke 
My strength : the lord unto those enemies 
Hath given me, from whom I cannot rise. 

^^" He under foot hath trodden in my sight 
My strong men, he did company accite 
To break my young men ; he the wine-press hath 
Trod upon Juda's daughter in his wrath. 

'^- For these things do I weep ; mine eye, mine 

eye 
Casts water out ; for he which should be ni^h 



198 DIVINE POEMS. 

To comfort me, is now departed far ; 
The foe prevails, forlorn my children are. 

^^- There 's none, though Sion do stretch out her 

hand. 
To comfort her ; it is the Lord's command, 
That Jacob's foes girt him : Jerusalem 
Is as an unclean woman amongst them. 

'^' But yet the Lord is just, and righteous still, 
I have rebelled against his holy will : 
O hear, all people, and my sorrow see. 
My maids, my young men in captivity. 

^^- I called for my lovers then, but they 
Deceived me, and my priests and elders lay 
Dead in the city ; for they sought for meat, 
Which should refresh their souls, and none could 
get. 

^°* Because I am in straits, Jehovah, see 
My heart o'erturned, my bowels muddy be ; 
Because I have rebelled so much, as fast 
The sword without, as death within doth waste. 

^'- Of all, which here I mourn, none comforts 

me ; 
My foes have heard my grief, and glad they be, 
That thou hast done it ; but thy promised day 
Will come, wlien, as I suffer, so shall they. 



DIVINE POEMS. 199 

^'' Let all their wickedness appear to thee ; 
Do unto them, as thou hast done to me 
For all my sins : the sighs which I have had 
Are very many, and my heart is sad. 



^' Howr over Sion's daughter hath God hung 
His wrath's thick cloud ! and from heaven hath 

flung 
To earth the beauty of Israel, and hath 
Forgot his footstool in the day of wrath ! 

^- The Lord unsparingly hath swallowed 
All Jacob's dwellings, and demolished 
To ground the strength of Juda, and profaned 
The princes of the kingdom and the land. 

^- In heat of wrath the horn of Israel he 
Hath clean cut off, and, lest the enemy 
Be hindered, his right hand he doth retire ; 
But is towards Jacob all-devouring fire. 

*' Like to an enemy he bent his bow. 

His right hand was in posture of a foe, 

To kill what Sion's daughter did desire, 

'Gainst whom his wrath he poured forth like fire. 



200 DIVINE POEMS. 

^- For like an enemy Jehovah is, 
Devouring Israel, and his palaces ; 
Destroying holds, giving additions 
To Juda's daughter's lamentations. 

^' Like to a garden-hedge, he hath cast down 
The place, where was his congregation. 
And Sion's feasts and sabbaths are forgot ; 
Her king, her priest, his wrath regarded not. 

^- The Lord forsakes his altar, and detests 
His sanctuary ; and in the foe's hands rests 
His palace, and the walls, in which their cries 
Are heard, as in the true solemnities. 

^- The Lord hath cast a line, so to confound 
And level Sion's walls unto the ground ; 
He draws not back his hand, which doth o'erturn 
The wall and rampart, which together mourn. 

^- The gates are sunk into the ground, and he 
Hath broke the bar ; their kings and princes be 
Amongst the heathen, without law ; nor there 
Unto the prophets doth the Lord appear. 

^°- There Sion's elders on the ground are placed, 
And silence keep ; dust on their heads they cast : 
In sackcloth have they girt themselves, and low 
The virgins towards ground their heads do throw. 



DIYIXE POEMS. 201 

^'' My bowels are grown muddy, and mine eyes 
Are faint with weeping : and my liver lies 
Poured out upon the ground, for misery, 
That sacking children in the streets do die. 

^" "When they had cried unto their mothers, 

where 
Shall we have bread and drink ? they fainted 

there ; 
And in the street like wounded persons lay, 
Till 'twixt their mother's breasts they went away. 

^^- Daughter Jerusalem, oh ! what may be 
A witness, or comparison for thee ? 
Sion, to ease thee, what shall I name like thee ? 
Thy breach is like the sea ; what help can be ? 

For thee vain foolish things thy prophets 
sought, 

Thee thine iniquities they have not taught, 
Which might disturn thy bondage : but for thee 
False burthens and false causes they would see. 

The passengers do clap their hands, and hiss, 
And wag their head at thee, and say, is this 
I That city which so many men did call 
\ Joy of the earth, and perfectest of all ? 

^^- Thy foes do gape upon thee, and they hiss. 
And gnash their teeth, and say, devour we this ; 



202 DIVINE POEMS. 

For this is certainly the day which we 
Expected, and which now we find and see. 

^^- The Lord hath done that which he purposed ; 

Fulfilled his word, of old determined ; 

He hath thrown down, and not spared, and thy 

foe 
Made glad above thee, and advanced him so. 

^^' But now their hearts unto the Lord do call, 
Therefore, walls of Sion, let tears fall 
Down like a river, day and night ; take thee 
No rest, but let thine eye incessant be. 

'^- Arise, cry in the night, pour out thy sins, 
Thy heart, like water, when the watch begins ; 
Lift up thy hands to God, lest children die. 
Which, faint for hunger, in the streets do lie. 

^°* Behold, Lord, consider unto whom 
Thou hast done this ; what, shall the women come 
To eat their children of a span ? shall thy 
Prophet and priest be slain in sanctuary ? 

^'- On ground in streets the young and old do 

lie. 
My virgins and young men by sword do die ; 
Them in the day of thy wrath thou hast slain, 
Nothing did thee from killing them contain. 



DIVINE POEMS. 203 

^' As to a solemn feast, all whom I feared 
Thou call'st about me : when thy wrath appeared, 
None did remain or 'scape ; for those which I 
Brought up, did perish by mine enemy. 



^' I AM the man which have affliction seen, 
Under the rod of God's wrath having been. 
^' He hath led me to darkness, not to light : 
^' And against me all day his hand doth fight. 

** He hath broke my bones, worn out my flesh 

and skin ; 
^- Built up against me ; and hath girt me in 
With hemlock, and with labour ; ®- and set me 
In dark, as they who dead forever be. 

^' He hath hedged me, lest I scape, and added 

more 
To my steel fetters, heavier than before. 
^' When I cry out, he outshuts my prayer ; ^" and 

hath 
Stopped with hewn stone my way, and turned my 

path. 

^°' And like a lion hid in secrecy, 

Or bear which lies in wait, he was to me. 



204 DIVINE POEMS. 

"• He stops mj way, tears me, made desolate ; 
^^ And he makes me the mark he shooteth at. 

'^- He made the children of his quiver pass 
Into my reins. ^^' I with my people was 
All the day long a song and mockery. 
^^- He hath filled me with bitterness, and he 

Hath made me drunk with wormwood. ^^" He 

hath burst 
My teeth with stones, and covered me with dust. 
"■ And thus my soul far off from peace was set, 
And my prosperity I did forget. 

*^' My strength, my hope, (unto myself I said,) 
Which from the Lord should come, is perished. 
^^' But when my mournings I do think upon. 
My wormwood, hemlock, and affliction ; 

^°' My soul is humbled in remembering this ; 
^^' My heart considers ; therefore hope there is, 
^'^' 'Tis God's great mercy we are not utterly 
Consumed, for his compassions do not die ; 

^^- For every morning they renewed be ; 
For great, Lord, is thy fidelity. 
^*' The Lord is, saith my soul, my portion, 
And therefore in him will I hope alone. 

^- The Lord is good to them who on him rely, 
And to the soul that seeks him earnestly. 



DIVINE POEMS. 205 

^^- It is both good to trust, and to attend 
The Lord's salvation unto the end. 

'■^^- 'Tis good for one his yoke in youth to bear. 
^^- He sits alone, and doth all speech forbear. 
Because he hath borne it : ^^- and his mouth he 

lays 
Deep in the dust, yet then in hope he stays. 

^- He gives his cheeks to whosoever will 
Strike him, and so he is reproached still. 
"'• For not forever doth the Lord forsake ; 
^^- But when he hath struck with sadness, he 
doth take 

Compassion, as his mercy is infinite. 
^- Nor is it with his heart, that he doth smite, 
^^- That under foot the prisoners stamped be ; 
^- That a man's right the judge himself doth see 

To be wrung from him ; ^®" that he subverted is 

In his just cause, the Lord allows not this. 

^^- Who then will say, that ought doth come to 

pass, 
But that which by the Lord commanded was ? 

^' Both good and evil from his mouth proceeds ; 
39- Why then grieves any man for his misdeeds ? 
^°- Turn we to God, by trying out our ways ; 
^'- To him in heaven our hands with hearts upraise. 



206 DIVINE POEMS. 

^^- We have rebelled, and fallen away from thee ; 
Thou pardon'st not ; ^^- usest no clemency ; 
Pursu'st us, kill'st us, cover'st us with wrath ; 
^*- Cover'st thyself with clouds, that our prayer 
hath 

No power to pass : ^'- And thou hast made us fall, 
As refuse and ofF-scouring to them all. 
^®- All our foes gape at us. *^° Fear and a snare. 
With ruin and with waste, upon us are. 

^^' With watery rivers doth mine eye o'erflow, 
For ruin of my people's daughters so ; 
*^- Mine eye doth drop down tears incessantly ; 
^°- Until the Lord look down fi'om heaven to see. 

^^- And for my city-daughter's sake, mine eye 
Doth break mine heart. ^^' Causeless mine enemy 
Like a bird chased me. ^^* In a dungeon 
They 've shut my life, and cast me on a stone. 

^*' Waters flowed o'er my head ; then thought I, 

I am 
Destroyed : ^^- I called, Lord, upon thy name, 
Out of the pit; ^^' And thou my voice didst hear: 
Oh ! from my sight and cry stop not thine ear. 

°'' Then when I called upon thee, thou drew'st 

near 
Unto me, and saidst unto me. Do not fear. 



DIVINE POEMS. 207 

^" Thon, Lord, my soul's cause handled hast, and 

thou 
Rescu'st my life. ®^- Lord, do thou judge now. 

Thou heard'st my wrong. ^°- Their vengeance all 

they 've wrought ; 
^^' How they reproached, thou 'st heard, and what 

they thought ; 
^' What their lips uttered, which against me rose. 
And what was ever whispered by my foes. 

^^' I am their song, whether they rise or sit. 

^*' Give them rewards, Lord, for their working fit, 

^^" Sorrow of heart, thy curse : ®^' And with thy 

might 
Follow, and from under heaven destroy them 

quite. 



HoAV is the gold become so dim ! How is 
Purest and finest gold thus changed to this ! 
The stones, which were stones of the sanctuary. 
Scattered in corners of each street do lie. 

'^' The precious sons of Sion, which should be 
Valued as purest gold, how do we see 



208 DIVINE POEMS. 

Low-rated now, as earthern pitchers, stand, 
Which are the work of a poor potter's hand ! 

^' Even the sea-calfs draw their breasts, and give 
Suck to their young : my people's daughters live. 
By reason of the foe's great cruelness. 
As do the owls in the vast wilderness. 

^- And when the sucking child doth strive to draw, 
His tongue for thirst cleaves to his upper jaw : 
And when for bread the little children cry. 
There is no man that doth them satisfy. 

^* They, which before were delicately fed, 
jSTow in the streets forlorn have perished : 
And they, which ever were in scarlet clothed, 
Sit and embrace the dunghills, which they loathed. 

^- The daughters of my people have sinned more, 
Than did the town of Sodom sin before ; 
Which being at once destroyed, there did remain 
No hands amongst them to vex them again. 

"• But heretofore purer her Nazarite 
Was than the snow, and milk was not so white : 
As carbuncles, did their pure bodies shine ; 
And all their polishedness was sapphirine. 

^- They 're darker now than blackness ; none can 

know 
Them by the face, as through the street they go : 



DIVINE POEMS. 209 

For now their skin doth cleave unto their bone, 
And withered is like to dry wood grown. 

^- Better by sword than famine 't is to die ; 
And better through-pierced, than through penury. 
^°- Women, by nature pitiful, have eat 
Their children (drest with their own hand) for 
meat. 

"• Jehovah here fully accomplished hath 
His indignation, and poured forth his wrath ; 
Kindled a fire in Sion, which hath power 
To eat, and her foundations to devour. 

^'- Nor would the kings of the earth, nor all, 

which live 
In the inhabitable world, believe. 
That any adversary, any foe 
Into Jerusalem should enter so. 

^^" For the priest's sins, and prophet's, which have 

shed 
Blood in the streets, and the just murthered : 
"• Which, when those men, whom they made 

blind, did stray 
Thorough the streets, defiled by the way 

With blood, the which inapossible it was 
Their garment should 'scape touching, as they 
pass; 

14 



210 DIVINE POEMS. 

^^' Would cry aloud, Depart, defiled men ! 
Depart, depart, and touch us not ! and then 

They fled, and strayed, and with the Gentiles 

were. 
Yet told their friends, they should not long dwell 

there. 
^^- For this they 're scattered by Jehovah's face, 
Who never will regard them more ; no grace 

Unto the old men shall their foe afford ; 

Nor, that they 're priests, redeem them from the 

sword : 
^''- And we as yet, for all these miseries 
Desiring our vain help, consume our eyes : 

And such a nation, as cannot save, 
We in desire and speculation have. 
^^' They hunt our steps, that in the streets we 

fear 
To go ; our end is now approached near. 

Our days accomplished are, this the last day ; 
Eagles of heaven are not so swift as they 
19. ^hich follow us ; o'er mountain's tops they fly 
At ^s, and for us in the desert lie. 

^°' The anointed Lord, breath of our nostrils, he 
Of whom we said, under his shadow we 
Shall with more ease under the heathen dwell, 
Into the pit, which these men digged, fell. 



DIVINE POEMS. 211 

^^' Rejoice, Edom's daughter ; joyful be, 
Thou that inhabit'st Uz ; for unto thee 
This cup shall pass, and thou with drunkenness 
Shalt fill thyself, and show thy^ nakedness. 

^^' And then thy sins, Sion, shall be spent ; 
The Lord will not leave thee in banishment : 
Thy sins, O Edom's daughter, he will see, 
And for them pay thee with captivity. 



^' Remember, O Lord, what is fallen on us ; 
See and mark how we are reproached thus. 
^' For unto strangers our possession 
Is turned, our houses unto aliens gone. 

^* Our mothers are become as widows, we 

As orphans all, and without fathers be. 

*• Waters, which are our own, we drink, and pay ; 

And upon our own wood a price they lay. 

^' Our persecutors on our necks do sit. 
They make us travail, and not intermit. 
^' We stretch our hands unto the Egyptians 
To get us bread ; and to the Assyrians. 



212 DIVINE POEMS. 

^* Our fathers did these sins, and are no more ; 
But we do bear the sins they did before. 
^* They are but servants, which do rule us thus ; 
Yet from their hands none would deliver us. 

^' With danger of our life our bread we gat ; 
For in the wilderness the sword did wait. 
^°- The tempests of this famine we lived in 
Black as an oven coloured had our skin. 

^^' In Juda's cities they the maids abused 

By force, and so women in Sion used. 

^'^' The princes with their hands they hung ; no 

grace 
Nor honour gave they to the elder's face. 

^^* Unto the mill our young men carried are. 
And children fell under the wood they bare : 
'"^- Elders the gates, youth did their songs forbear ; 
Gone was our joy ; our dancings mournings were. 

^^- Now is the crown fallen from our head ; and wo 
Be unto us, because we 've sinned so. 
^^- For this our hearts do languish, and for this 
Over our eyes a cloudy dimness is ; 

^'^' Because Mount Sion desolate doth lie. 
And foxes there do go at liberty. 
*^- But thou, Lord, art ever ; and thy throne 
From generation to generation. 



DIVINE POEMS. 213 

^9- Why shouldst thou forget us eternally ; 
Or leave us thus long in this misery ? 
'^°- Restore us, Lord, to thee ; that so we may 
Return, and, as of old, renew our day. 

^'- For oughtest thou, Lord, despise us thus, 
^^- And to be utterly enraged at us ? 



HYMN TO GOD, MY GOD, IN MY SICKNESS. 

Since I am coming to that holy room, 

Where with the choir of saints for evermore 

I shall be made thy music ; as I come, 
I tune the instrument here at the door. 
And, what I must do then, think here before. 

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown 

Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie 
Flat on this bed, that by them may be shown 
/ That this is my southwest discovery 
^ Perfretum fehris, by these straits to die. 

I joy, that in these straits I see my west ; 

For though those currents yield return to none, 

What shall my west hurt me ? /As west and east 
In all flat maps (and I am one) are one, Q 

So death doth touch the resurrection./ ^ 



214 DIVINE POEMS. 

) 

Is the Pacific Sea my home ? Or are 

The eastern riches ? Is Jerusalem, 

Anyan, and Magellan, and Gibraltar ? 

All straits, and none but straits are ways to 

them, 
Whether where Japhet dwelt, or Cham, or 
Shem. 

"We think that Paradise and Calvary, 

Christ's cross and Adam's tree, stood in one 
place ; 

Look, Lord, and find both Adams met in me ; 
As the first Adam's sweat surrounds my face, 
May the last Adam's blood my soul embrace. 

So in his purple wrapped receive me. Lord, 
By these his thorns give me his other* crown ; 

And as to others' souls I preached thy word. 
Be this my text, my sermon to mine own, — 
Therefore^ that he may raise, the Lord throws 
down, 

* Var. holy. ed. 1633. 



DIVINE POEMS. 215 



A HY^IN TO GOD THE FATHER. 

I. 
Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, 

Which was my sin, though it were done before ? 
Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run 

And do run still, though still I do deplore ? 
When thou hast done, thou hast not done ; 
For I have more. 

II. 
Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I have won 
Others to sin, and made my sin their door ? 
Wilt thou forgive that sin, which I did shun 
A year or two, but wallowed in a score ? 
When thou hast done, thou hast not done ; 
For I have more. 



I have a sin of fear, that when I 've spun 
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; 
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son 
Shall shine, as he shines now and heretofore : 
And having done that, thou hast done ; j 

I fear no more. ' 



216 



[TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT, WITH HIS 
SEAL OF THE ANCHOR AND CHRIST.] 

Although the Cross could not Christ here de- 
tain, 
Though nailed unto it, but he ascends again. 
Nor yet thy eloquence here keep him still, 
But only while thou speak'st, this Anchor will. 
Nor canst thou be content, unless thou to 
This certain Anchor add a Seal, and so 
The water and the earth both unto thee 
Do owe the symbol of their certainty. 

When Love, being weary, made an end 
Of kind expressions to his friend. 
He writ : when his hand could write no more. 
He gave the Seal, and so left o'er. 

How secret a friend was he, who, being grieved 
His letters were broke rudely up, believed 
'T was more secure in great Love's common-weal, 
(Where nothing should be broke,) to add a Seal ! 

Let the world reel, we and all ours stand sure ; 
This holy cable is of all storms secure. 



217 



A SHEAF OF SNAKES USED HERETOFOEE 
TO BE MY SEAL, THE CREST OF OUR 
POOR FA^SHLY. 

Adopted in God's family, and so 
Our old coat lost, unto new arms I go. 
The cross (my seal at baptism) spread below, 
Does by that form into an anchor grow. 
Crosses grow anchors ; bear, as thou should'st do. 
Thy cross ; and that cross grows an anchor too. 
But he, that makes our crosses anchors thus, 
Is Christ, who there is crucified for us. 
Yet may I, with this, my first serpents hold ; 
God gives new blessings, and yet leaves the old. 
The serpent may, as wise, my pattern be ; 
My poison, as he feeds on dust, that 's me. 
And as he rounds the earth to murther sure. 
My death he is ; but on the cross, my cure. 
Crucify nature then, and then implore 
All grace from him, crucified there before ; 
When all is cross, and that cross anchor grown. 
This seal 's a catechism, not a seal alone. 
Under that little seal great gifts I send, 
Works and prayers, pawns, and fruits of a friend. 
And may that saint, which rides in our Great Seal, 
To you, who bear his name, great bounties deal. 



THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 



INFINITATI SACHUM, 



16 AUGUSTI, 1601. 



METEMPSYCHOSIS. 



POEMA SATYRICON. 



EPISTLE. 

Others at the porches and entries of their buildings set 
their arms ; I my picture ; if any colors can deliver a mind 
so plain and fiat and through-light as mine. Naturally at a 
new author I doubt, and stick, and do not say quickly, Good. 
I censure much and tax ; and this liberty costs me more than 
others. Yet I would not be so rebellious against myself, as 
not to do it, since I love it; nor so unjust to others, to do it 
sine talione. As long as I give them as good hold upon me, 
they must pardon me my bitings. I forbid no reprehender 
but him, that like the Trent Council, forbids not books, but 
authors, damning whatever such a name hath or shaU write. 
None write so ill, that he gives not something exemplary to 
follow, or fly. Now when I begin this book, 1 have no pur- 
pose to come into any man's debt; how my stock wiU hold 
out, I know not ; perchance waste, perchance increase in use. 
If I do borrow any thing of Antiquity, besides that I make 
account that I pay it to Posterity, with as much, and as 
good, you shall stUl find me to acknowledge it, and to thank 
not him only, that hath digged out treasure for me, but that 
hath lighted me a candle to the place. All which I will bid 
you remember (for I will have no such readers, as I can 



222 EPISTLE. 

teach) is, that the Pythagorean doctrine doth not only cany 
one soul from man to man, or man to beast, but indifferently 
to plants also : and therefore you must not grudge to find the 
same soul in an emperor, in a post-horse, and in a macaron ; 
since no unreadiness in the soul, but an indisposition in the 
organs works this. And therefore, though this soul could 
not move when it was a melon, yet it may remember and can 
now tell me, at what lascivious banquet it was served. And 
though it could not speak, when it was a spider, yet it can 
remember, and now tell me, who used it for poison to attain 
dignity. However the bodies have dulled her other faculties, 
her memory hath ever been her own ; which makes me so 
seriously deliver you by her relation all her passages from 
her first making, when she was that apple which Eve eat, to 
this tune when she is she, whose life you shall find in the end 
of thi& book. 



THE PEOGEESS OF THE SOUL. 

FIRST SONG. 
I. 

I SING the progress of a deathless soul, 
Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, 
Placed in most shapes ; all times, before the law 
Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing ; 
And the great world to his aged evening, 
From infant morn, through manly noon I draw ; 
What the gold Chaldee, or silver Persian saw, 
Greek brass, or Roman iron, is in this one ; 
A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, 
And (holy writ excepted) made to yield to none. 

II. 
Thee, eye of Heaven, this great soul envies 
not; 
By thy male force is all we have, begot. 
In the first east thou now begin'st to shine, 
Suck'st early balm, and island spices there ; 
And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career 
At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danaw dine. 
And see at night thy western land of mine ; 



224 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she, 
That before thee one day began to be ; 
And, thy frail light being quenched, shall long, 
long outlive thee. 



Nor, holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat 
The church, and all the monarchies did float ; 
That swimming college, and free hospital 
Of all mankind, that cage and vivary 
Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny 
Us and our latest nephews did install ; 
(From thence are all derived, that fill this All ;) 
Didst thou in that great stewardship embark 
So divers shapes into that floating park, 
As have been moved, and informed by this heaven- 
ly spark. 



Great Destiny, the commissary of God, 
That hasrmar^KeH~ouFa"path'^^^^^ 
For every thing ; who, where we offspring took. 
Our ways and ends seest at one instant ; thou 
Knot of all causes ; thou, whose changeless brow 
Ne'er smiles nor frowns, O vouchsafe thou to look. 
And show my story, in thy eternal book. 
That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand 
So much myself, as to know with what hand, 
How scant, or liberal, this my life's race is 
spanned. 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 225 

V. 

To my six lustres, almost now outwore, 
Except thy book owe me so many more ; 
Except my legend be free from the lets 
Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty, 
Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, 
Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, 
And all that calls from this and the others whets ; 
O ! let me not launch out, but let me save 
The expense of brain and spirit ; that my grave 
His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may 
have. 



But if my days be long, and good enough, 
In vain this sea shall enlarge, or enrough 
Itself ; for I will through the wave and foam, 
And hold in sad lone ways a lively sprite. 
Make my dark heavy poem light and light. 
For, though through many straits and lands I roam, 
I launch at paradise, and I sail towards home : 
The course, I there began, shall here be stayed ; 
Sails hoisted there, struck here ; and anchors laid 
In Thames, which were at Tigris and Euphrates 
weighed. 

YII. 

For the great soul, which here amongst us now 
Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and 
brow, 

15 



226 PROGRESS OP THE SOUL. 

Which, as the moon the sea, moves us ; to hear 
Whose story with long patience you will long ; 
(For 'tis the crown, and last strain of my song ;) 
This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were 
Prisons of flesh ; this soul, which oft did tear, 
And mend the wracks of the Empire, and late 

Rome, 
And lived when every great change did come. 
Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. 



Yet no low room, nor than the greatest less, 
If (as devout and sharp men fitly guess) 
That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie 
That all, which always was all, everywhere, 
Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear, 
Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) 
Stood in the self-same room in Calvary, 
Where first grew the forbidden learned tree ; 
For on that tree hung in security 
This soul, made by the Maker's will from pull- 
ing free. 



Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, 
Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born, 
That apple grew, which this soul did enlive ; 
Till the then-climbing serpent, that now creeps 
For that offence, for which all mankind weeps, 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 227 

Took it, and to her, whom the first man did wive 
(Whom, and her race, only forbiddings drive) 
He gave it, she to her husband ; both did eat : 
So perished the eaters and the meat ; 
And we (for treason taints the blood) thence die 
and sweat. 



Man all at once was there by woman slain ; 
And one by one we are here slain o'er again 
By them. The mother poisoned the well-head, 
The daughters here corrupt us rivulets ; 
No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks their 

nets : 
She thrust us out, and by them we are led 
Astray, from turning to whence we are fled. 
Were prisoners judges, 't would seem rigorous ; 
She sinned, we bear; part of our pain is thus 
To love them, whose fault to this painful love 

yoked us. 

XI. 

So fast in us doth this corruption grow, 
That now we dare ask why we should be so ; 
Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make 
A law, and would not have it kept ? Or can 
His creature's will cross his ? Of every man. 
For one, will God (and be just) vengeance take? 
Who sinned ? 't was not forbidden to the snake, 
Nor her, who was not then made ; nor is it writ, 



228 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

That Adam cropt, or knew the apple ; yet 

The worm, and she, and he, and we endure for it. 



But snatch me, heavenly spirit, from this vain 
Reckoning their vanity ; less is their gain 
Than hazard, still to meditate on ill, [toys 

Though with good mind ; their reason's like those 
Of glassy bubbles, which the gamesome boys 
Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill. 
That they themselves break, and do themselves 

spill. 
Arguing is heretic's game ; and exercise. 
As wrestlers, perfects them : not liberties 
Of speech, but silence ; hands, not tongues, end 

heresies. 



Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe 
Broke the slight veins, and tender conduit-pipe, 
Through which this soul from the tree's root did 

draw 
Life and growth to this apple, fled away 
This loose soul, old, one and another day. 
As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, 
'Tis so soon gone, (and better proof the law 
Of sense, than faith requires,) swiftly she flew 
To a dark and foggy plot ; her, her fates threw 
There through the earth's pores, and in a plant! 

housed her anew. 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 229 

XIV. 

The plant, thus abled, to itself did force 
A place, where no place was ; by nature's course 
As air from water, water fleets away 
From thicker bodies ; by this root thronged so 
His spungy confines gave him place to grow : 
Just as in our streets, when the people stay 
To see the prince, and so fill up the way, 
That weasels scarce could pass ; when she comes 

near, 
They throng, and cleave up, and a passage clear, 
As if for that time their round bodies flattened 

were. 

XV. 

His right arm he thrust out towards the east, 
Westward his left ; the ends did themselves digest 
Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were : 
And as a slumberer stretching on his bed. 
This way he this, and that way scattered 
His other leg, which feet with toes up bear ; 
Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair. 
To show, that in love's business he should still 
A dealer be, and be used, well or ill : 
His apples kindle ; his leaves force of conception 
kill. 

XVI. 

A mouth, but dumb, he hath ; blind eyes, deaf 
ears ; 
And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs ; 



230 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

A young Colossus there he stands upright : 
And, as that ground by him were conquered, 
A leafy garland wears he on his head 
Enchased with little fruits, so red and bright, 
That for them you would call your love's lips 

white ; 
So of a lone unhaunted place possest. 
Did this soul's second inn, built by the guest, 
This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. 

XVII. 

No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, 
But 't was because there was none yet but Eve ; 
And she (with other purpose) killed it quite : 
Her sin had now brought in infirmities. 
And so her cradled child the moist red eyes 
Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light ; 
Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, 
And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood : 
Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have 

stood ; 
But he 's short-lived, that with his death can do 

most good. 



To an unfettered soul's quick nimble haste 
Are falling stars, and heart's thoughts, but slow- 



Thinner than burnt air flies this soul, and she, 
Whom four new coming, and four parting suns 



i 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 231 

Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs 
Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny 
Confined, and engaoled her, that seemed so free, 
Into a small blue shell ; the which a poor 
Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, 
Till her inclosed child kicked, and picked itself a 
door. 

XIX. 

Out crept a sparrow, this soul's moving inn. 
On whose raw arms stifi" feathers now begin. 
As childrens' teeth through gums, to break with 

pain; 
His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads ; 
All a new downy mantle overspreads. 
A mouth he opes, which would as much contain 
As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, 
And chirps aloud for meat. Meat fit for men 
His father steals for him, and so feeds then 
One, that within a month, will beat him from his 
hen. 

XX. 

In this world's youth wise nature did make 



Things ripened sooner, and did longer last ; 
Already this hot cock in bush and tree, 
In field and tent o'erflutters his next hen ; 
He asks her not who did so taste, nor when : 
Nor if his sister or his niece she be, 



232 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy, 
If in her sight he change ; nor doth refuse 
The next, that calls ; both liberty do use ; 
Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may 
freely choose. 



Men, till they took laws which made freedom 
less, 
Their daughters and their sisters did ingress ; 
Till now, unlawful, therefore ill, 't was not ; 
So jolly, that it can move this soul, is 
The body ; so free of his kindnesses, 
That self-preserving it hath now forgot. 
And slackeneth so the soul's and body's knot. 
Which temperance straitens : freely on his she- 
friends 
He blood and spirit, pith and marrow spends, 
111 steward of himself, himself in three years ends. 



Else might he long have lived ; man did not 
know 
Of gummy blood, which doth in holly grow. 
How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive 
With feign'd calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, 
The free inhabitants of th' pliant air. 
Man to beget, and woman to conceive. 
Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave : 
Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 233 

Pleasantly three, than straitened twenty, years 
To live, and to increase his race, himself outwears. 

XXIII. 

This coal with over-blowing quenched and 
dead, 
The soul from her too- active organs fled 
To a brook ; a female fish's sandy roe 
With the male's jelly newly leavened was, 
For they had intertouched as they did pass, 
And one of those small bodies, fitted so. 
This soul informed, and abled it to row 
Itself with finny oars, which she did fit ; 
Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet 
Perchance a fish, but by no name, you could call it. 

XXIV. 

When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, 
A swan so white, that you may unto him 
Compare all whiteness, but himself to none. 
Glided along, and, as he glided, watched. 
And with his arched neck this poor fish catched : 
It moved with state, as if to look upon 
Low things it scorned ; and yet, before that one 
Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear 
This, and much such ; and, unblamed, devoured 

there 
All, but who too swift, too great, or well armed 



234 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

XXV. 

Now swam a prison in a prison put, 
And now this soul in double walls was shut ; 
Till, melted with the swan's digestive fire. 
She left her house the fish, and vapoured forth : 
Fate, not affording bodies of more worth 
For her as yet, bids her again retire 
To another fish, to any new desire 
Made a new prey : for he, that can to none 
Resistance make, nor complaint, sure is gone ; 
Weakness invites, but silence feasts, oppression. 

XXVI. 

Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, 
And journeys with her towards the glassy deep. 
But oft retarded ; once with a hidden net. 
Though with great windows, (for when need first 

taught 
These tricks to catch food, then they were not 

wrought. 
As now, with curious greediness, to let 
None 'scape, — but few, and fit for use, to get,) 
As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en. 
Who, though himself distrest, would fain have 

slain 
This wretch ; so hardly are ill habits left again. 

XXVII. 

Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast ; 
Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast ; 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 235 

The net through-swum, she keeps the liquid path, 
And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe, 
And suck in air, or find it underneath, 
Or working-parts like mills, or limbecks hath. 
To make the water thin and air-like, faith 
Cares not, but safe the place she' s come unto. 
Where fresh with salt waves meet ; and what to do 
She knows not, but between both makes a board 
or two. 

XXVIII. 

So far from hiding her guests water is. 
That she shows them in bigger quantities, 
Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, 
For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie 
Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high 
The silly fish, where it disputing lay, 
And, to end her doubts and her, bears her away ; 
Exalted she is but to the exalter's good, 
(As are by great ones, men which lowly stood.) 
It's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. 



Is any kind subject to rape like fish ? 
Ill unto man they neither do, nor wish ; 
Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake ; 
They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey 
Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away ; 
Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake 
To spoil the nests industrious birds do make ; 



236 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon ; 

To kill them is an occupation, 

And laws make fasts and lents for their destruction. 

XXX. 

A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour 
To seaward forced this bird, that did devour 
The fish ; he cares not, for with ease he flies, 
Fat gluttony's best orator : at last 
So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast. 
That leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies. 
And with his prey, that till then languished, dies ; 
The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. 
The fish I follow, and keep no calendar 
Of the other : he lives yet in some great officer. 

XXXI. 

Into an embryon fish our soul is thrown, 
And in due time thrown out again, and grown 
To such vastness as, if unmanacled 
From Greece Morea were, and that, by some 
Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swum ; 
Or seas from Afric's body had severed 
And torn the hopeful promontory's head ; 
This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes 

fail, 
A great ship overset, or without sail 
Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like 

this whale. 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 237 

XXXII. 

At every stroke his brazen fins do take, 
More circles in the broken sea thej make, 
Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: 
His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof 
Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof : 
Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, 
And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were 
Some inland sea ; and ever, as he went. 
He spouted rivers up, as if he meant 
To join our seas with seas above the firmament. 

XXXIII. 

He hunts not fish, but as an ofiicer 
Stays in his court, at his own net, and there 
All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral ; 
So on his back lies this whale wantoning, 
And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, 
That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, 
Flyer and follower, in this whirlpool fall ; 
might not states of more equality 
Consist ? and is it of necessity [must die ? 

That thousand guiltless smalls, to make one great, 

XXXIV. 

Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks ; 
He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks : 
Now in a roomful house this soul doth float, 
And, like a prince, she sends her faculties 
To all her limbs, distant as provinces. 



238 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat 
Parched, since first launched forth this living boat ; 
'Tis greatest now, and to destruction 
Nearest : there 's no pause at perfection ; 
Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. 

XXXV. 

Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, 
Nor fed ©n their kind, two, not thoroughly armed 
With hope that they could kill him, nor could do 
Good to themselves by his death (they did not eat 
His flesh, nor suck those oils, which thence out- 

streat) 
Conspired against him ; and it might undo 
The plot of all, that the plotters were two, 
But that they fishes were, and could not speak. 
How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break. 
If Avretches can on them the common anger wreak? 

XXXVI. 

The flail-finned thrasher, and steel-beaked 

sword-fish 
Only attempt to do, w^hat all do wish : 
The thrasher backs him, and to beat begins ; 
The sluggard whale yields to oppression. 
And, to hide himself from shame and danger, 

down 
Begins to sink ; the sword-fish upward spins, 
And gores him with his beak ; his stafi'-like fins 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 239 

So well the one, his sword the other plies, 
That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, 
And (his own dole) feeds with himself all com- 
panies. 

XXXVII. 

Who will revenge his death ? or who will call 
Those to account, that thought and wrought his 

fall? 
The heirs of slain kings we see are often so 
Transported with the joy of what they get. 
That they revenge and obsequies forget ; 
Nor will against such men the people go, 
Because he is now dead, to whom they should 

show 
Love in that act. Some kings by vice being 

grown 
So needy of subjects' love, that of their own 
They think they lose, if love be to the dead prince 

shown. 

XXXVIII. 

This soul, now free from prison and passion, 
Hath yet a little indignation, 
That so small hammers should so soon down-beat 
So great a castle, and having for her house 
Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, 
(As basest men, that have not what to eat, 
Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great, 
Than they, who good reposed estates possess) 



240 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

This soul, late taught that great things might by 

less 
Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. 



Nature's great master-piece, an elephant 
(The only harmless great thing) the giant 
Of beasts, who thought none had to make him 

wise. 
But to be just and thankful, loth to offend, 
(Yet nature hath given him no knees to bend) 
Himself he up-props, on himself relies, 
And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, 
Still sleeping stood ; vexed not his fantasy 
Black dreams, like an unbent bow carelessly 
His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. 

XL. 

In which, as in a gallery, this mouse 
Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house ; 
And to the brain, the soul's bed-chamber, went, 
And gnawed the life-cords there : like a whole 

town 
Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down ; 
With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent 
To kill, not 'scape (for only he, that meant 
To die, did ever kill a man of better room) 
And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb : 
Who cares not to turn back, may any-whither 
come. 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 241 



Next housed this soul a wolf s yet unborn whelp. 
Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help 
To issue : it could kill, as soon as go. 
Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, 
(Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there 
Was the first type,) was still infested so 
With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe ; 
And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends 
The flock so near, so well warns and defends, 
That the wolf (hopeless self) to corrupt her in- 
tends. 



He took a course, which since successfully 
Great men have often taken, to espy 
The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes ; 
To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark. 
On whose skirts the bitch slept; ere she could bark. 
Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those 
Embracements of love ; to love's work he goes, 
Where deeds move more than words ; nor doth 

she show, 
Nor much resist, nor needs he straiten so 
His prey, for were she loose, she would not bark 

nor go. 

XLIII. 

He hath engaged her; his she wholly bides : 
Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. 
16 



242 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

If to the flock he come, and Abel there, 
She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not ; 
Her faith is quite, but not her love, forgot. 
At last a trap, of which some everywhere 
Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear. 
By the wolf's death ; and now just time it was. 
That a quick soul should give life to that mass 
Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did 
pass. 

XLIV. 

Some have their wives, their sisters some begot ; 
But in the lives of emperors you shall not 
Read of a lust, the which may equal this : 
This wolf begot himself, and finished, 
What he began alive, when he was dead. 
Son to himself, and father too, he is 
A riding lust, for which Schoolmen would miss 
A proper name. The whelp of both these lay 
In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, 
His sister, being young, it used to sport and 
play. 

XLV. 

He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, 
And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new 
For the field ; being of two kinds thus made, 
He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away. 
And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. 
Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 243 

Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, be- 
trayed 
Himself by flight, and by all followed. 
From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled ; 
And, like a spy to both sides false, he perished. 

XLYI. 

It quickened next a toyful ape, and so 
Gamesome it was, that it might freely go 
From tent to tent, and with the children play ; 
His organs now so like theirs he doth find. 
That, why he cannot laugh and speak his mind, 
He wonders. Much with all, most he doth 

stay 
With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia : 
Doth gaze on her, and, where she passeth, pass. 
Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass ; 
And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover 



XL VII. 

He was the first, that more desired to have 
One than another ; first, that e'er did crave 
Love by mute signs, and had no power to 

speak ; 
First, that could make love-faces, or could do 
The vaulter's sombersalts, or used to woo 
With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, 
To make his Mistress merry ; or to wreak 
Her anger on himself. Sins against kind 



244 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 

They eas'ly do, that can let feed their mind 
With outward beauty ; beauty they in boys and 
beasts do find. 

XL VIII. 

By this misled, too low things men have proved, 
And too high ; beasts and angels have been loved : 
This ape, though else through-vain, in this was 

wise; 
He reached at things too high, but open way 
There was, and he knew not she would say nay. 
His toys prevail not, likelier means he tries, 
He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes. 
And up-lifts subtly wuth his russet paw 
Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe [law. 
Of nature ; nature hath no gaol, though she hath 

XLIX. 

First she was silly, and knew not what he 

meant : 
That virtue, by his touches chaft and spent. 
Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite ; 
She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth. 
And wilh'ng half and more, more than half wrath. 
She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright 
Now cries, and now repents ; when Thelemite, 
Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw 
After the Ape, who thus prevented flew. 
This house thus battered down, the soul possest 

a new. , 



PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 245 

L. 

And whether by this change she lose or win, 
She comes out next, where the Ape would have 

gone in. 
Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, 
Like Chjmique's equal fires, her temperate womb 
Had stewed and formed it : and part did become 
A spongy liver, that did richly allow, 
Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow, 
Life-keeping moisture unto every part ; 
Part hardened itself to a thicker heart, 
"Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. 



Another part became the well of sense, 
The tender well-armed feeling brain, from whence 
Those sinew-strings, which do our bodies tie, 
Are ravelled out ; and, fast there by one end, 
Did this soul limbs, these limbs a soul attend ; 
And now they joined, keeping some quality 
Of every past shape ; she knew treachery, 
Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough 
To be a woman : Themech she is now. 
Sister and wife to Cain, Cain, that first did plough. 

LII. 

Whoe'er thou be'st, that read'st this sullen writ, 
Which just so much courts thee, as thou dost it, 
Let me arrest thy thoughts ; wonder with me 
Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, 



V\ 



246 PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. 



Or most of those arts, whence our lives are blest, 

By cursed Cain's race invented be, 

And blest Seth vext us with astronomy. 

There's nothing simply good nor ill alone, 

Of every quality comparison 

The only measure is, and judge, opinion. 



THE END OF THE PEOGRESS OF THE SOUL. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



1 



SONGS AND SONNETS. 



THE FLEA. 

Maek but this flea, and mark in this, 
How little that which thou deniest me is ; 
Me it sucked first, and now sucks thee, 
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be ; 
Confess it.* This cannot be said 
A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead. 

Yet this enjoys, before it woo, 

And pampered swells with one blood made of 
two. 

And this, alas 1 is more than we eould do. 

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare. 
Where we almost, nay, more than married are. 
This flea is you and I, and this 
Our marriage-bed, and marriage-temple is ; 
Though parents grudge, and you, we are met, 
And cloistered in these living walls of jet. 
Though use make you apt to kill me, 

* Ed. 1635. Thou know'st that. 



250 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Let not to that self-murder added be, 
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. 

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since 
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence ? 
Wherein could this flea guilty be, 
Except in that blood which it sucked from thee ? 
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou 
Find'st not thyself, nor me the weaker now ; 
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be : 
Just so much honor, when thou yield'st to me, 
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from 
thee. 



THE GOOD-MORROW. 

I WONDER, by my troth, what thou and I, 
Did, till we loved ? were we not weaned till then 
But sucked on country pleasures childishly ? * 
Or slumbered we in the Seven Sleepers' den ? 
'T was so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be : 
If ever any beauty I did see. 
Which I desired and got, 't was but a dream of 
thee. 

* Var. childish pleasures sillily. 



i 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 251 

And now good-morrow to our waking souls, 
Which watch not one another out of fear ; 
For love all love of other sights controls, 
And makes one little room an everywhere. 
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, 
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown,* 
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is 
one. 

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, 
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ; 
Where can we find two fitter hemispheres 
Without sharp north, without declining west ? 
Whatever dies, was not mixed equally ; 
If our two loves be one, both thou and I 
Love just alike in all, none of these loves can die. 



SONG. 

Go and catch a falling star, 
Get with child a mandrake root. 
Tell me where all years past f are, 
Or who cleft the devil's foot, 



* Var. to other worlds our world, 
t Var. times past. 



-K 



252 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Teach me to hear mermaid's singing. 
Or to keep off envy*s stinging, 

And find, 

What wind 
Serves to advance an honest mind. 

If thou be'st born to strange sights. 
Things invisible go* see, 
\ Ride ten thousand days and nights. 
Till age snow white hairs on thee ; 
Thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me 
All strange wonders that befell thee. 
And swear, 
Nowhere 
Lives a woman true and fair. 

If thou find'st one, let me know, 

Such a pilgrimage were sweet; 
Yet do not : I would not go, 

Though at next door we might meet ; 
Though she were true when you met her. 
And last till you write your letter. 
Yet she 
Will be 
False, ere I come, to two or three. 



POEMS, SOXGS, AND SONNETS. 253 



WOMAN'S CONSTANCY. 

Now thou hast loved me one whole day, 
To-morrow when thou leav'st, what wilt thou 

say? 
Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ? 

Or say that now 
We are not just those persons which we were ? 
Or that oaths made in reverential fear 
Of Love and his wrath, any may forswear ? 
Or, as true deaths true marriages untie, 
So lovers' contracts, images of those. 
Bind but till Sleep, Death's image, them unloose ? 

Or, your own end to j ustify. 
For having purposed change and falsehood, you 
Can have no way but falsehood to be true ? 
Vain lunatic, against these scapes I could 

Dispute and conquer, if I would ; 

Which I abstain to do. 
For by to-morrow I may think so too. 



254 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



THE UNDERTAKmG. 

I HAVE done one braver thing, 

Than all the Worthies did ; 
And yet a braver thence doth spring, 

Which is, to keep that hid. 

It were but madness now to impart 

The skill of specular stone, 
When he, which can have learned the art 

To cut it, can find none. 

So, if I now should utter this, 

Others (because no more 
Such stuff to work upon there is) 

Would love but as before : 

But he who loveliness within 
Hath found, all outward loathes ; 

For he who color loves and skin, 
Loves but their oldest clothes. 

If, as I have, you also do 

Virtue in woman see, 
And dare love that, and say so too, 

And forf^fet the He and She ; — 



POEMS, SOXGS, AND SONNETS. 255 

And if this love, though placed so, 

From profane men you hide, 
Which will no faith on this bestow, 

Or, if they do, deride ; — 

Then you have done a braver thing. 

Than all the Worthies did. 
And a braver thence will spring, 

Which is, to keep that hid. 



THE SUN-RISma 



7" 



Busy old fool, unruly sun. 
Why dost thou thus, 
Through windows and through curtains call* 

on us? 
Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run ? 
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide 
Late school-boys, and sour 'prentices. 
Go tell court-huntsmen, that the King will ride. 
Call country ants to harvest offices ; 
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime. 
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of 
time. 

* Va7\ look. 



-^\;j 



256 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Thy beams so reverend and strong, 
Dost thou not think 
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink, 
But that I would not lose her sight so long ? 
If her eyes have not blinded thine, 
Look, and to-morrow late tell me 
Whether both the Indias of spice and mine 
Be where thou left them, or lie here with me ; 
Ask for those kings, whom thou saw'st yester- 
day; 
And thou shalt hear all here in one bed lay. 

She 's all states, and all princes I, 
V^ Nothing else is. 

Princes do but play us ; compared to this. 
All honor's mimic, all wealth alchemy ; 
Thou sun art half as happy as we. 
In that the world 's contracted thus ; 
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be 
To warm the world, that's done in warming us. 
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ; 
This bed thy centre is, these walls thy sphere. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 257 



THE INDIFFERENT. 

I CAN love both fair and brown ; 

Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want 

betrays ; 
Her who loves loneness best, and her who sports 

and plays ; 
Her whom the country formed, and whom the 

town; 
Her who believes, and her who tries ; 
Her who still weeps with spongy eyes, J 
And her who is dry cork, and never cries / 
I can love her, and her, and you, and you/ 
I can love any, so she be not true. ' 

Will no other vice content you ? 

Will it not serve your turn to do as did your 

mothers ? 
Or have you all old vices spent, and now would 

find out others ? 
Or doth a fear that men are true torment you ? 
Oh, we are not, be not you so ; 
Let me ; and do you twenty know. 
Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go ; 
Must I, who came to travel thorough you. 
Grow your fixed subject, because you are true ? \ 
17 



258 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Yenus heard me sing this song. 

And by Love's sweetest part,* variety, she swore, 

She heard not this till now ; it should be so no 

more. 
She went, examined, and returned ere long. 
And said, Alas ! some two or three 
Poor heretics in love there be. 
Which think to 'stablish dangerous constancy ; 
But I have told them, since you will be true. 
You shall be true to them, who are false to you. 



LOVE'S USURY. 

For every hour that thou wilt spare me now, 

I will allow. 
Usurious God of Love, tw^enty to thee. 
When with my brown my gray hairs equal be ; 
Till then. Love, let my body range, and let 
Me travel, sojourn, snatch, plot, have, forget. 
Resume my last year's relict, think that yet 

We had never met. 

Let me think any rival's ktter mine. 
And at next nine 

* Vct7\ art. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 259 

Keep midnight's promise ; mistake by the way 
The maid, and tell the lady of that delay ; 
Only let me love none, no not the sport ; 
From country grass to comfitures of court, 
Or city's quelque-choses, let not report 
My mind transport. 

This bargain's good ; if when I 'm old, I be 

Inflamed by thee. 
If thine own honor, or my shame or pain, 
Thou covet most, at that age thou shalt gain ; 
Do thy will then, then subject and degree 
And fruit of love, Love, I submit to thee ; 
Spare me till then, I '11 bear it, though she be 

One that loves me. 



CANONIZATION. 

For God's sake hold your tongue, and let me 
love. 
Or chide my palsy, or my gout, 
My true gray hairs, or ruined fortunes flout ; 
With wealth your state, your mind with arts 

improve. 
Take you a course, get you a place, 
Observe his Honour or his Grace, 



260 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Or the King's realj or his stamped face 
/Contemplate; what you will, approve, 
( So you will let me love. 

Alas, alas, who's injured by my love ? 

What merchant's ships have my sighs drowned? 
Who says my tears have overflowed his ground ? 

When did my colds a forward spring remove ? 

When did the heats which my veins fill 

Add one more to the plaguy bill ? 
Soldiers find wars, and lawyers find out still 

Litigious men which quarrels move, 

Though she and I do love. 

Call 's what you will, we are made such by love ; 

Call her one, me another fly ; 
We 're tapers too, and at our own cost die ; 

And we in us find the eagle and the dove ; 
j The phoenix-riddle hath more wit 
i By us ; we two being one, are it : 
So to one neutral thing both sexes fit. 
\ We die and rise the same, and prove 
/I Mysterious by this love. 

We can die by it, if not live by love. 

And if unfit for tomb or hearse 
Our legend be, it will be fit for verse ; 

And if no piece of chronicle we prove. 

We '11 build in sonnets pretty rooms. 

As w^ell a well- wrought urn becomes 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 261 

The greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs ; 
And by those hymns all shall approve 
Us canonized for love, 



And thus invoke us : " You whom reverend love 

Made one another's hermitage ; 
You to whom love was peace, that now is rage. 

Who did the whole world's soul contract, and 
drove 

Into the glasses of your eyes. 

So made such mirrors and such spies. 
That they did all to you epitomize ; 

Countries, towns, courts, beg from above 

A pattern of your love." 



THE TRIPLE FOOL. 

I AM two fools, I know. 

For loving, and for saying so 

In whining poetry ; 
But where 's that wise man, that would not be I, 

If she would not deny ? 
Then as the earth's inward narrow crooked lanes 
Do purge sea-water's fretful salt away, 

I thought, if I could draw my pains 
Through rhyme's vexation, I should them allay. 



262 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Grief, brought to numbers cannot be so fierce, 
For lie tames it that fetters it in verse. 

But when I have done so. 
Some man, his art and voice to show. 

Doth set and sing my pain. 
And, by delighting many, frees again 

Grief, which verse did restrain. 
To love and grief tribute of verse belongs. 
But not of such as pleases when 'tis read, 

Both are increased by such songs ; 
For both their triumphs so are published. 
And I, w^hich was two fools, do so grow three : 
Who are a little wise, the best fools be. 



LOVER'S INFINITENESS. 

If yet I have not all thy love. 
Dear, I shall never have it all ; 
I cannot breathe one other sigh to move. 
Nor can entreat one other tear to fall ; 
And all my treasure, which should purchase thee. 
Sighs, tears, and oaths, and letters I have spent. 
Yet no more can be due to me. 
Than at the bargain made was meant : 
If then thy gift of love were partial. 
That some to me, some should to others fall. 
Dear, I shall never have it all. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 2G3 

Or, if then thou gav'st me all, 
All was but all, which thou hadst then : 
But if in thy heart since there be, or shall 
New love created be by other men, 
Which have their stocks entire, and can in tears. 
In sighs, in oaths, in letters outbid me, 
This new love may beget new fears ; 
For this love was not vowed by thee. 
And yet it was, thy gift being general ; 
The ground, thy heart, was mine, whatever shall 
Grow there, dear, I should have it all. 

Yet, I would not have all yet, 

He that hath all can have no more ; 

And since my love doth every day admit 

New growth, thou should'st have new rewards in 

store ; 
Thou canst not every day give me thy heart, 
If thou canst give it, then thou never gav'st it : 
,- Love's riddles are that, though thy heart depart, 
,' It stays at home, and thou with losing sav'st it : 
But we will love a way more liberal 
Than changing hearts, — to join them ; so we shall 
Be one, and one another's All. 



2Q4: POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



SONG. 

Sweetest Love, I do not go, 

For weariness of thee. 
Nor in hope the world can show 
A. fitter Love for me ; 

But since that I 
At the last must part, 't is best, 
Thus to use myself in jest 

By feigned deaths to die ; 

Yesternight the sun went hence, 

And yet is here to-day. 
He hath no desire nor sense. 

Nor half so short a way : 

Then fear not me, 
But believe that I shall make 
Speedier journeys, since I take 

More wings and spurs than he. 

O how feeble is man's power, 

That, if good fortune fall. 
Cannot add another hour, 

Nor a lost hour recall ! 

But come bad chance, 
And we join to it our strength. 
And we teach it art and length. 

Itself o'er us to advance. 



POEMS, SONGS, AXD SONNETS. 265 

When thou sigh'st thou sigh'st no wind, 

But sigh'st my soul away ; 
When thou weep'st, unkindly kind. 

My life's blood doth decay. 

It cannot be 
That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st, 
If in thine my life thou waste, 

That art the best * of me. 

Let not thy divining heart 

Forethink me any ill, 
Destiny may take thy part, 

And may thy fears fulfil ; 

But think that we 
Are but turned aside to sleep : 
They, who one another keep 

Alive, ne'er parted be. 



THE LEGACY. 

When I died last (and. Dear, I die 
As often as from thee I go, 
Though it be but an hour ago. 
And lovers' hours be full eternity) 
I can remember yet, that I 



266 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Something did saj, and something did bestow, 
Though I be dead, which meant me, I should be 
Mine own executor, and legacy. 

I heard me say. Tell her anon, 

That myself, that is you, not I, 

Did kill me ; and when I felt me die, 

I bid me send my heart, when I was gone. 

But I, alas ! could there find none. 

"When I had ripped, and searched where hearts 

should lie. 
It killed me again, that I, who still was true 
In life, in my last will should cozen you. 

Yet I found something like a heart, 

But colors it and corners had. 

It was not good, it was not bad. 

It was entire to none, and few had part : 

As good, as could be made by art, 

It seemed, and therefore for our loss as sad ; 

I meant to send that heart instead of mine, 

But oh ! no man could hold it, for "t was thine. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 267 



A FEVEK. 

Oh do not die, for I shall hate 

All women so, when thou art gone, 

That thee I shall not celebrate, 
When I remember thou wast one. 

But yet thou canst not die, I know ; 

To leave this world behind, is death ; 
But when thou from this world wilt go. 

The whole world vapours in thy breath. 

Or if, when thou, the world's soul, go'st, 

It stay, 't is but thy carcass then ; 
• The fairest woman, but thy ghost ; 

But corrupt worms, the worthiest men. 

O wrangling schools, that search what fire 
Shall burn this world, had none the wit 

Unto this knowledge to aspire. 
That this her fever might be it ? 

And yet she cannot waste by this. 
Nor long bear this torturing wrong. 

For more corruption needful is. 
To fuel such a fever long. 



268 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

These burning fits but meteors be, 
Whose matter in thee soon is spent ; 

Thy beauty, and all parts, which are thee, 
Are an unchangeable firmament. 

Yet 't was of my mind, seizing thee. 
Though it in thee cannot persever ; 

For I had rather owner be 

Of thee one hour, than all else ever. 



AIR AND ANGELS. 

Twice or thrice had I loved thee, 
Before I knew thy face or name ; 
So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, 
Angels affect us oft, and worshipped be : 

Still when, to where thou wast, I came, 
Some lovely glorious nothing I did see ; 

But since my soul, whose child love is. 
Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do. 

More subtile than the parent is, 
Love must not be, but take a body too ; 

And therefore what thou wast, and who, 

I bid love ask, and now. 
That it assume thy body, I allow, 
And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 269 

Whilst thus to ballast love I thought, 
And so more steadily to have gone. 
With wares which would sink admiration 
I saw, I had Love's pinnace overfraught ; 

Thy every hair for love to work upon 
Is much too much, some fitter must be sought ; 

For, nor in nothing, nor in things 
Extreme, and scattering-bright, can love inhere ; 

Then as an angel face and wings 
Of air, not pure as it, yet pure doth wear, 
So thy love may be my love's sphere ; 

Just such disparity 
As is, twixt air's and angel's purity, 
'Twixt women's love, and men's will ever be. 



BREAK OF DAY. 

I. 

Stat, Sweet, and do not rise. 
The light, that shines, comes from tbine eyes ; 
The day breaks not, it is my heart, 
Because that you and I must part. 

Stay, or else my joys will die. 

And perish in their infancy. 

II. 
'T is true, 't is day ; what though it be ? 
O wilt thou therefore rise from me ? 



270 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Why should we rise, because 't is light ? 
Did we lie down, because 't was night ? 

Love, which in spite of darkness brought us 
hither, 

Should in despite of light keep us together. 



Light hath no tongue, but is all eye ; 

If it could speak as well as spy, 

This were the worst that it could say, 

That being well, I fain would stay, 

And that I loved my heart and honor so, 
That I would not from him, that had them, go. 

IV. 

Must business thee from hence remove ? 
Oh, that 's the worst disease of love ; 
The poor, the foul, the false, Love can 
Admit, but not the busied man. 

He which hath business, and makes love, doth do . 

Such wrong, as when a married man should woo. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 271 



THE ANNIVERSARY. 

All Kings, and all their favorites, 

All glory of honors, beauties, wits. 
The sun itself (which makes times, as these pass) 
Is elder by a year now, than it was, 
When thou and I first one another saw : 
All other things to their destruction draw ; 

Only our love hath no decay : 
This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday ; 
Running, it never runs from us away. 
But truly keeps his first-last-everlasting day. 

Two graves must hide thine and my corse ; 

If one might, death were no divorce ; 
Alas ! as well as other princes, we, 
(Who prince enough in one another be,) 
Must leave at last in death these eyes, and ears, 
Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears. 

But souls where nothing dwells but love, 
(All other thoughts being inmates) then shall prove 
This, or a love increased, there above, 
When bodies to their graves, souls from their 
graves remove. 

And then we shall be throughly blest : 
But now no more than all the rest. 



272 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Here upon earth we are kings, and none but we 
Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be ; 
Who is so safe as we, where none can do 
Treason to us, except one of us two ? 
True and false fears let us refrain : 
Let us love noblj, and live, and add again 
Years and years unto years, till we attain 
To write threescore : this is the second of our reign. 



A VALEDICTION OF MY NAME IN THE 
WINDOW. 

I. 

My name engraved herein, 
Doth contribute my firmness to this glass, 
Which, ever since that charm, hath been 
As hard as that which graved it was ; 
Thine eye will give it price enough to mock 
The diamonds of either rock. 

II. 
'T is much that glass should be 
As all-confessing and through-shine as I ; 
'T is more that it shows thee to thee, 
And clear reflects thee to thine eye. 
But all such rules Love's magic can undo. 
Here you see me, and I am you. 



rOEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 273 
III. 

As no one point nor dash, 
AVhich are but accessories to this name, 
The showers and tempests can outwash, 
So shall all times find me the same ; 
You this entireness better may fulfil, 

Who have the pattern with you still. 



Or if too hard and deep 
This learning be, for a scratched name to teach, 
It as a given death's-head keep, 
Lovers' mortality to preach ; 
Or think this ragged bony name to be 
My ruinous anatomy. 

T. 

Then as all my souls be 
Emparadised in you (in whom alone 
I understand, and grow, and see) 
The rafters of my body, bone, 
Being still with you, the muscle, sinew, and vein. 
Which tile this house, will come again. 

VI. 

Till my return, repair 
And recompact my scattered body so, 
As all the virtuous powers, which are 
Fixed in the stars, are said to flow 
Into such characters as graved be. 

When those stars had supremacy. 
18 



274 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 
VII. 

So since this name was cut. 
When love and grief their exaltation had, 
No door 'gainst this name's influence shut ; 
As much more loving, as more sad, 
'Twill make thee; and thou should'st, till I return, 
Since I die daily, daily mourn. 



When thy inconsiderate hand 
Flings ope this casement, with my trembling name. 
To look on one, whose wit or land 
New battery to thy heart may frame, 
Then think this name alive, and that thou thus 
In it offend'st my Genius. 



And when thy melted maid. 

Corrupted by thy lover's gold or page. 

His letter at thy pillow hath laid. 

Disputed it, and tamed thy rage. 

And thou begin'st to thaw toward him for this. 

May my name step in, and hide his. 

X. 

And if this treason go 
To an overt act, and that thou write again : 
In superscribing, my name flow 
Into thy fancy from the pen. 
So in forgetting thou rememberest right, 
And unaware to me shalt write. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 275 



But glass and lines must be 

No means our firm substantial love to keep ; 

Near death inflicts this lethargy, 

And thus I murmur in my sleep ; 

Impute this idle talk to that I go ; 

For dying men talk often so. 



T^VICKENHAM GARDEN. 

Blasted with sighs, and surrounded with tears, 

Hither I come to seek the spring, 

And at mine eyes, and at mine ears. 
Receive such balm as else cures every thing : 

But O, self-traitor, I do bring 
The spider Love, which transubstantiates all, 

And can convert manna to gall. 
And that this place may thoroughly be thought 

True Paradise, I have the serpent brought. 

'T were wholesomer for me, that winter did 

Benight the glory of this place. 

And that a grave frost did forbid 
These trees to laugh, and mock me to my face ; 

But that I may not this disgrace 
Endure, nor leave this garden, Love, let me 

Some senseless piece of this place be ; 



276 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Make me a mandrake, so I may grow here, 
Or a stone fountain weeping out the year. 

Hither with crystal vials, lovers, come, 

And take my tears, which are Love's wine. 
And try your mistress' tears at home, 

For all are false, that taste not just like mine ; 
Alas ! hearts do not in eyes shine, 

Nor can you more judge women's thoughts by tears, 
Than by her shadow, what she wears. 

O, perverse sex, where none is true but she, 
^ Who 's therefore true, because her truth kills 
me. 



VALEDICTION TO HIS BOOK. 

I 'll tell thee now (dear love) what thou shalt do 
To anger destiny, as she doth us ; 
How I shall stay, though she eloign me thus. 
And how posterity shall know it too ; 
How thine may out-endure 
Sibyl's glory, and obscure 
Her, who from Pindar could allure, 
And her, through whose help Lucan is not lame. 
And her, whose book (they say) Homer did find 
and name. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 277 

Study our manuscripts, those myriads 

Of letters, which have past 'twixt thee and me, 
Thence write our annals, and in them will be 
To all, whom love's subliming fire invades, 
Rule and example found ; 
There, the faith of any ground 
No schismatic will dare to wound. 
That sees, how love this grace to us affords, 
To make, to keep, to use, to be these his records. 

This book as long-lived as the elements, 

Or as the world's form, this all- graved tome, 
In cipher writ, or new-made idiom ; 
We for Love's clergy only are instruments ; 
When this book is made thus. 
Should again the ravenous 
Vandals and Goths invade us. 
Learning were safe in this our universe, 
Schools might learn sciences, spheres music, angels 
verse. 

Here Love's divines (since all divinity 
Is love or wonder) may JSnd all they seek, 
Whether abstract spiritual love they like. 
Their souls exhaled with what they do not see ; 
Or, loath so to amuse 
Faith's infirmity, they choose 
Something, which they may see and use ; 
For though mind be the heaven, where Love 
doth sit. 
Beauty a convenient type may be to figure it. 



278 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Here more than in their books may lawyers 
find. 
Both by what titles mistresses are ours, 
And how prerogative these states devours, 
Transferred from Love himself to womankind, 
Who, though from heart and eyes 
They exact great subsidies. 
Forsake him, who on them relies. 
And for the cause honor or conscience give. 
Chimeras, vain as they, or their prerogative. 

Here statesmen (or of them they which can read) 
May of their occupation find the grounds. 
Love and their art alike it deadly wounds. 
If to consider what 't is, one proceed ; 
In both they do excel, 
Who the present govern well. 
Whose weakness none doth, or dares tell ; 
In this thy book such will their nothing see. 
As in the Bible some can find out alchemy. 

Thus vent thy thoughts ; abroad I '11 study thee, 
As he removes far off, that great heights takes : 
How great love is, presence best trial makes. 
But absence tries, how long this love will be ; 
To take a latitude, 
Sun, or stars, are fitliest viewed 
At their brightest ; but to conclude 
Of longitudes, what other way have we, 
But to mark when, and where the dark eclipses be ? 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 279 



COIVIMUNITY. ^ 

Good we must love, and must hate ill, 
For ill is ill, and good good still ; 

But there are things indiiFerent, 
Which we may neither hate nor love, 
But one, and then another prove, 

As we shall find our fancy bent. 

If then at first wise nature had 
Made women either good or bad, 

Then some we might hate, and some choose. 
But since she did them so create, 
That we may neither love nor hate, 

Only this rests, all all may use. 

If they were good, it would be seen ; 
Good is as visible as green. 

And to all eyes itself betrays ; 
If they were bad, they could not last, 
Bad doth itself and others waste. 

So they deserve nor blame nor praise. 

But they are ours, as fruits are ours. 
He that but tastes, he that devours. 

And he that leaves all, doth as well ; 
Changed loves are but changed sorts of meat. 
And, when he hath the kernel eat. 

Who doth not fling away the shell ? \ 



280 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



LOVE'S GROWTH. 

I SCARCE believe my love to be so pure 

As I had thought it was. 

Because it doth endure 
Vicissitude and season, as the grass ; 
I Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore 
My love was infinite, if spring make it more. 

But if this medicine Love, which cures all sorrow 
With more, not only be no quintessence. 
But mixt of all stuffs, vexing soul or sense, 
And of the sun his active vigor borrow, 
Love 's not so pure an abstract, as they use 
To say, which have no mistress but their muse ; 
1 But, as all else, being elemented too, 
\ Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes 
do. 

And yet no greater, but more eminent 

Love by the spring is grown ; 

As in the firmament 
Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown. 
Gentle love-deeds, as blossoms on a bough, 
From Love's awakened root do bud out now. 

If, as in water stirred, more circles be 
Produced by one, Love such additions take, 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 281 

Those, like so many spheres, but one heaven make, 

For they are all concentric unto thee ; 

And though each spring do add to love new heat, 

As princes do in times of action get 

New taxes, and remit them not in peace, 

No winter shall abate this spring's increase. 



LOYE'S EXCHANGE. 

Love, any devil else but you 

Would for a given soul give something too ; 

At court, your fellows every day 

Give the art of rhyming, huntsmanship, or play 

For them which were their own before ; 

Only I 've nothing, which gave more, 

But am, alas ! by being lowly, lower. 

I ask no dispensation now 

To falsify a tear, a sigh, a vow, " --■ 

I do not sue from thee to draw 

A non obstante on nature's law ; 

These are prerogatives, they inhere 

In thee and thine ; none should forswear, 

Except that he Love's minion were. 

Give me thy weakness, make me blind 

Both ways, as thou and thine, in eyes and mind : 



282 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Love, let me never know that this 

Is love, or that love childish is. 

Let me not know that others know 

That she knows my pains, lest that so 

A tender shame make me mine own new woe. 

If thou give nothing, yet thou art just. 

Because I would not thy first motions trust : 

Small towns which stand stiff, till great shot 

Enforce them, by war's law condition not ; 

Such in love's warfare is my case, 

I may not article for grace. 

Having put Love at last to show this face. 

This face, by which he could command 

And change the idolatry of any land ; 

This face, which, wheresoe'er it comes. 

Can call vowed men from cloisters, dead from 

tombs. 
And melt both poles at once, and store 
Deserts with cities, and make more 
Mines in the earth, than quarries were before. 

For this Love is enraged with me. 
Yet kills not : if I must example be 
To future rebels, if the unborn 
Must learn, by my being cut up and torn ; 
Kill and dissect me. Love ; for this 
Torture against thine own end is. 
Racked carcases make ill anatomies. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 283 



CONFINED LOVE. 

Some man unworthy to be possessor 
Of old or new love, himself being false or weak, 

Thought his pain and shame would be lesser 
If on womankind he might his anger wreak. 
And thence a law did grow, 
One might but one man know ; 
But are other creatures so ? 

Are sun, moon, or stars by law forbidden 
To smile where they list, or lend away their light ? 

Are birds divorced, or are they chidden 
If they leave their mate, or lie abroad all night ? 
Beasts do no jointures lose. 
Though they new lovers choose. 
But we are made worse than those. 

Whoe'er rigged fair ships to lie in harbors. 
And not to seek new lands, or not to deal with all ? 

Or build fair houses, set trees and arbors, 
Only to lock up, or else to let them fall ? 
Good is not good, unless 
A thousand it possess. 
But doth waste with greediness. 



284 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



THE DREAM. 

Dear Love, for nothing less than thee 
Would I have broke this happy dream ; 

It was a theme 
For reason, much too strong for phantasy, 
Therefore thou waked'st me wisely ; yet 
My dream thou brok'st not, but continued'st it : 
Thou art so true, that thoughts of thee suffice 
To make dreams truths, and fables histories ; 
Enter these arms, for since thou thought'st it best 
Not to dream all my dream, let 's act the rest. 

As lightning or a taper's light. 

Thine eyes, and not thy noise waked me ; 

Yet I thought thee 
(For thou lov'st truth) an angel at first sight ; 
But when I saw thou saw'st my heart, 
And knew'st my thoughts beyond an angel's art, 
When thou knew'st what I dreamt, then thou 

knew'st when 
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam'st then ; 
I must confess, it could not choose but be 
Profane to think thee any thing but thee. 

Coming and staying showed thee thee ; 
But rising makes me doubt that now 
Thou art not thou. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 285 

That Love is weak, where fear's as strong as he ; 
'T is not all spirit, pure and brave, 
If mixture it of fear, shame, honor, have. 
Perchance as torches, which must ready be, 
Men light and put out, so thou deal'st with me, 
Thou cam'st to kindle, goest to come : then I 
Will dream that hope again, but else would die. 



A VALEDICTION OF WEEPING. 

Let me pour forth 
Mj tears before thy face, whilst I stay here, 
For thy face coins them, and thy stamp they bear : 
And by this mintage they are something worth, 

For thus they be 

Pregnant of thee ; 
Fruits of much grief they are, emblems of more ; 
When a tear falls, that Thou fall'st, which it bore ; 
So thou and I are nothing then, when on a divers 
shore. 

On a round ball 
A workman, that hath copies by, can lay 
A Europe, Afric, and an Asia, 
And quickly make that, which was nothing, all : 

So doth each tear, 

Which thee doth wear, 



286 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

A globe, yea, world by that impression grow, 
Till thy tears mixed with mine do overflow 
This world, by waters sent from thee, my heav'n 
dissolved so. 

more than moon. 
Draw not up seas to drown me in thy sphere ; 
Weep me not dead in thine arms, but forbear 
To teach the sea, what it may do too soon ; 

Let not the wind 

Example find 
To do me more harm, than it purposeth : 
Since thou and I sigh one another's breath, 
Whoe'er sighs most, is cruellest, and hastes the 
other's death. 



LOVE'S ALCHEMY. 

Some that have deeper digged Love's mine 

than I, 
Say, where his centric happiness doth lie : 

I 've loved, and got, and told. 
But should I love, get, tell, till I were old, 
I should not find that hidden mystery ; 

Oh, 't is imposture all : 
And as no chymic yet the Elixir got. 

But glorifies his pregnant pot, 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 287 

If by the way to him befall 
Some odoriferous thing, or medicinal, 

So lovers dream a rich and long delight, 
But get a winter-seeming summer's night. 

Our ease, our thrift, our honor, and our day 
Shall we for this vain bubble's shadow pay ? 

Ends love in this, that any man 
Can be as happy as I can, if he can 
Endure the short scorn of a bridegroom's play ? 

That loving wretch that swears, 
'T is not the bodies marry, but the minds. 

Which he in her angelic finds, 

Would swear as justly, that he hears, 
In that day's rude hoarse minstrelsy, the 
spheres : 
Hope not for mind in women ; at their best 
Sweetness and wit, they 're but mummy, possest. 



THE CURSE. 

Whoever guesses, thinks, or dreams he knows 
Who is my mistress, wither by this curse ; 

Him only for his purse 

May some, dull whore to love dispose, 
And then yield unto all that are his foes ; 



288 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

May he be scorned by one, whom all else scorn, 
Forswear to others, what to her he hath sworn, 
With fear of missing, shame of getting, torn. 

Madness his sorrow, gout his cramp may he 
Make, by but thinking who hath made him such : 
And may he feel no touch 
Of conscience, but of fame, and be 
Anguished, not that 't was sin, but that.'t was she ; 
Or may he for her virtue reverence 
One, that hates him only for impotence, 
And equal traitors be she and his sense. 

May he dream treason, and believe that he 
Meant to perform it, and confess, and die, 
And no record tell why : 
His sons, which none of his may be, 
Inherit nothing but his infamy : 

Or may he so long parasites have fed, 

That he would fain be theirs, whom he hath 

bred. 
And at the last be circumcised for bread. 

The venom of all step-dames, gamester's gall, 
What tyrants and their subjects interwish. 
What plants, mine, beasts, fowl, fish 
Can contribute, all ill, which all 
Prophets or poets spake ; and all, which shall 
Be annexed in schedules unto this by me, 
Fall on that man ; for if it be a she, 
Nature beforehand hath outcursed me. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 289 



THE MESSAGE. 

Send home my long-strayed eyes to me, 
Which (oh) too long have dwelt on thee ; 
But if * they there have learned such ill, 
Such forced fashions 
And false passions, 
That they be 
Made by thee 
Fit for no good sight, keep them still. 

Send home my harmless heart again, 
Which no unworthy thought could stain ; 
But if it be taught by thine 
To make jestings 
Of protestings. 
And break both 
Word and oath. 
Keep it, for then 't is none of mine. 

Yet send me back my heart and eyes. 
That I may know and see thy lies, 
And may laugh and joy, when thou 



* Var. yet since there. 
19 



290 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Art in anguish. 
And dost languish 
For some one. 
That will none. 
Or prove as false as thou art now. 



A NOCTURNAL UPON S. LUCY'S DAY, 
BEING THE SHORTEST DAY. 

'T IS the year's midnight, and it is the day's, 
Lucy's, who scarce seven hours herself unmasks ; 
The sun is spent, and now his flasks 
Send forth light squibs, no constant rays ; 
The world's whole sap is sunk : 
The general balm the hydroptic earth hath drunk, 
Whither, as to the beds-feet, life is shrunk. 
Dead and interred ; yet all these seem to laugh. 
Compared with me, who am their epitaph. 

Study me then, you who shall lovers be 
At the next world, that is, at the next spring: 
For I am a very dead thing. 
In whom Love wrought new alchemy. 
For his art did express 
A quintessence even from nothingness. 
From dull privations, and lean emptiness : 
He ruined me, and I am rebegot 
Of absence, darkness, death, things which are not. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 291 

All others from all things draw all that 's good. 
Life, soul, form, spirit, whence they being have ; 
I, by Love's limbeck, am the grave 
Of all, that 's nothing. Oft a flood 

Have we two wept, and so [grow 

Drowned the whole world, us two ; oft did we 
To be two Chaos's, when we did show 
Care to aught else ; and often absences 
Withdrew our souls, and made us carcases. 

But I am by her death (which word wrongs her) 

Of the first nothing the elixir grown ; 
Were I a man, that I were one, 
I needs must know ; I should prefer, 
If I were any beast, 

Some ends, some means ; yea, plants, yea, stones 
detest 

And love ; all, all some properties invest. 

If I an ordinary nothing were, 

As shadow, a light and body must be here. 

But I am none ; nor will my sun renew : 
You lovers, for whose sake the lesser sun 
At this time to the Goat is run 
To fetch new lust, and give it you, 
Enjoy your summer all. 
Since she enjoys her long night's festival. 
Let me prepare towards her, and let me call 
This hour her vigil and her eve, since this 
Both the year's, and the day's deep midnight is. 



292 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



WITCHCRAFT BY A PICTURE. 

I FIX mine eye on thine, and there 
Pity my picture burning in thine eye ; 

My picture drowned in a transparent tear, 
When I look lower, I espy ; 
Hadst thou the wicked skill. 

By pictures made and marred, to kill 

How many ways might'st thou perform thy will ! 

But now I 've drunk thy sweet salt tears. 
And though thou pour more, I '11 depart : 

My picture vanished, vanish all fears. 
That I can be endamaged by that art : 
Though thou retain of me 

One picture more, yet that will be. 

Being in thine own heart, from all malice free. 



THE BAIT. 

Come live with me, and be my love, 
And we will some new pleasures prove 
Of golden sands, and crystal brooks. 
With silken lines and silver hooks. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 293 

There will the river whispering run 
Warmed bj thine eyes, more than the sun ; 
And there the enamoured fish will stay,* 
Begging themselves they may betray. 

"When thou wilt swim in that live bath. 
Each fish, which every channel hath. 
Will amorously to thee swim, 
Gladder to catch thee, than thou him. 

If thou to be so seen be'st loath 
By sun or moon, thou darkenest both ; 
And if myself have leave to see, 
I need not their light, having thee. 

Let others freeze with angling reeds. 
And cut their legs with shells and weeds, 
Or treacherously poor fish beset, 
With strangling snare, or windowy net : 

Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest 
The bedded fish in banks outwrest. 
Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies. 
Bewitch poor fishes' wandering eyes : 

For thee, thou need'st no such deceit, 
For thou thyself art thine own bait ; 
That fish, that is not catched thereby, 
Alas ! is wiser far than I. 

* Va7\ play. 



294 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



THE APPAEITIOJSI. 

When by thy scorn, O murderess, I am dead, 

And that thou think'st thee free 
Of all solicitation from me, 
Then shall my ghost come to thy bed, 
And thee feigned vestal in worse arms shall see ; 
Then thy sick taper will begin to wink. 
And he, whose thou art then, being tired before, 
Will, if thou stir, or pinch to wake him, think 

Thou call'st for more, 
And in a false sleep even from thee shrink. 
And then, poor aspen wretch, neglected thou 
Bathed in a cold quicksilver sweat wilt lie 

A verier ghost than I ; 
What I will say, I will not tell thee now. 
Lest that preserve thee : and since my love is 

spent, 
I 'd rather thou should'st painfully repent. 
Than by my threatenings rest still innocent. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 295 



THE BROKEN HEART. 

He is stark mad, whoever says, 

That he hath been in love an hour ; 

Yet not that love so soon decays. 

But that it can ten in less space devour ; 

Who will believe me, if I swear 

That I have had the plague a year ? 

Who would not laugh at me, if I should say, 

I saw a flash of powder burn a day ? 

Ah I what a trifle is a heart, 

If once into Love's hands it come ! 

All other griefs allow a part 

To other griefs, and ask themselves but some. 

They come to us, but us love draws, 

He swallows us, and never chaws : 

By him, as by chained shot, whole ranks do die ; 

He is the tyrant pike, our hearts the fry. 

If 't were not so, what did become 
Of my heart, when I first saw thee ? 

I brought a heart into the room, 

But from the room I carried none with me : 
• If it had gone to thee, I know 

Mine would have taught thy heart to show 
More pity unto me : but Love, alas, 

At one first blow did shiver it as glass. 



296 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Yet nothing can to nothing fall, 

Nor any place be empty quite. 
Therefore I think my breast hath all 

Those pieces still, though they be not unite : 
And now, as broken glasses show 
A hundred lesser faces, so 

My rags of heart can like, wish, and adore, 
But after one such Love can love no more. 



A VALEDICTION FORBIDDING MOURNING. 

As virtuous men pass mildly away, 
And whisper to their souls to go, 

Whilst some of their sad friends, do say. 
The breath goes now, and some say no ; 



So let us melt, and make no noise. 

No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move, 

'T were profanation of our joys. 
To tell the laity our love. 

Moving of the earth brings harms and fears. 
Men reckon what it did and meant; 

But trepidation of the spheres. 
Though greater far, is innocent. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 297 

Dull sublunary Lovers' love 

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit 

Absence, because it doth remove 
Those things which elemented it. 

But we by a love so much refined. 
That ourselves know not what it is, 

Inter-assured of the mind, 

Care less eyes, lips, and hands to miss. 

Our two souls, therefore, which are one, 
Though I must go, endure not yet 

A breach, but an expansion, 
Like gold to airy thinness beat. 

If they be two, they are two so 

As stiff twin compasses are two ; 
Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show 

To move, but doth if the other do. 



And though it in the centre sit. 
Yet when the other far doth roam. 

It leans and hearkens after it. 

And grows erect, as that comes home 

Such wilt thou be to me, who must, 
Like the other foot, obliquely run. 

Thy firmness makes my circle just. 
And makes me end where I begun. 



298 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



THE ECSTASY. 

Where, like a pillow on a bed, 

A pregnant bank swelled up, to rest 
The violet's reclining head. 

Sate we two, one another's best ; 
Our hands were firmly cemented 

By a fast balm, which thence did spring, 
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread 
^ Our eyes upon one double string ; 
So to engraft our hands as yet 

Was all the means to make us one, 
And pictures in our eyes to get 

Was all our propagation. 
As 'twixt two equal armies Fate 

Suspends uncertain victory. 
Our souls (which, to advance our state, 

Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me ; 
And whilst our souls negotiate there. 

We like sepulchral statues lay. 
All day the same our postures were, 

And we said nothing all the day. 
If any, so by love refined. 

That he soul's language understood. 
And by good love were grown all mind. 

Within convenient distance stood. 
He (though he knew not which soul spake. 

Because both meant, both spake the same) 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 299 

Might thence a new concoction take. 

And part far purer than he came. 
This ecstasy doth unperplex 

(We said) and tell us what we love ; 
rWe see by this, it was not sex, 
^ We see we saw not what did move : 
But as all several souls contain 

Mixture of things they know not what. 
Love these mixt souls doth mix again, 

And makes both one, each this and that, 
A single violet transplant. 

The strength, the color, and the size 
(All which before was poor and scant) 

Redoubles still and multiplies. 
When love with one another so 

Inter-animates two souls, 
That abler soul, which thence doth flow, 

Defects of loneliness controls. 
We then, who are this new soul, know 

Of what we are composed and made ; 
For the atomies, of which we grow, 

Are soul, whom no change can invade. 
But, alas ! so long, so far 

Our bodies why do we forbear ? 
They are ours, though not we ; we are 1 

The intelligences, they the spheres, / 
We owe them thanks, because they thus 

Did us to us at first convey, 
Yielded their sense's force to us, 

Nor are dross to us, but allay. 



n 






300 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

On man heaven's influence works not so. 

But that it first imprints the air ; 
For soul into the soul may flow, 

Though it to body first repair. 
As our blood labors to beget 

Spirits, as like souls as it can. 
Because such fingers need to knit 

That subtile knot which makes us man ; 
So must pure Lovers' souls descend 

To affections and to faculties, 
Which sense may reach and apprehend. 

Else a great prince in prison lies ; 
To our bodies turn we then, that so 

Weak men on love revealed may look ; 
Love's mysteries in souls do grow, 

But yet the body is his book ; 
And if some lover, such as we. 

Have heard this dialogue of one, 
Let him still mark us, he shall see 

Small change, when we 're to bodies grown. 



LOVE'S DEITY. 

I LONG to talk with some old lover's ghost. 
Who died before the god of Love was born : 

I cannot think that he, who then loved most, 
Sunk so low, as to love one which did scorn. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 301 

But since this god produced a destiny, 

And tha|_vicgrJ]iatijre, custom, lets it be, 

I must love her that loves not me. 

Sure they, which made him god, meant not so 
much. 
Nor he in his young godhead practised it ; 
But when an even flame two hearts did touch, 

His office was indulgently to fit 
Actives to passives, correspondency 
, Only his subject was ; it cannot be 
V Love, if I love who loves not me. 

But every modern god will now extend 
His vast prerogative as far as Jove ; 

To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend, 
All is the purlieu of the god of Love. 

Oh were we wakened by this tyranny 

To ungod this child again, it could not be 
I should love her, who loves not me. 

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I 

As though I felt the worst that love could do ? 

Love may make me leave loving, or might try 
A deeper plague, to make her love me too. 

Which, since she loves before, I 'm loath to see ; 

i Falsehood is worse than hate ; and that must be. 
If she whom I love, should love me. 



> 



302 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



LOVE'S DIET. 

To what a cumbersome unwieldiness 

And burdenous corpulence my love bad grown, 

But that I did, to make it less. 

And keep it in proportion, 
Give it a diet, made it feed upon, 
That which love worst endures, discretion. 

Above one sigh a day I allowed him not. 
Of which my fortune and my faults had part ; 
And if sometimes by stealth he got 
A she sigh from my mistress' heart. 
And thought to feast on that, I let him see 
'T was neither very sound, nor meant to me. 

If he wrung from me a tear, I brined it so 

With scorn or shame, that him it nourished not ; 
If he sucked hers, I let him know 
'T was not a tear, which he had got. 

His drink was counterfeit, as was his meat ; 

For eyes, which roll towards all, weep not, but 
sweat. 

Whatever he would dictate, I writ that, 
But burnt her letters, when she writ to me ; 

And if that savor made him fat, 

I said, if any title be 



POEMS, SONGS, AXD SONNETS. 303 

Conveyed by this, All ! what doth it avail 
To be the fortieth name in an entail ? 

Thus I reclaimed my buzzard love, to fly 

At what, and when, and how, and where I choose ; 

Now negligent of sport I lie, 

And now, as other falconers use, 
I spring a mistress, swear, write, sigh, and weep, t 
And the game killed, or lost, go talk or sleep. ' 



THE WILL. 

Befoke I sigh my last gasp, let me breathe, 
Great Love, some legacies ; here I bequeathe 
Mine eyes to Argus, if mine eyes can see ; 
If they be blind, then. Love, I give them thee ; 
My tongue to Fame ; to embassadors mine ears ; 

To women, or the sea, my tears ; 
Thou, Love, hast taught me heretofore 
By making me serve her who had twenty more. 
That I should give to none, but such as had too 

much before. 

My constancy I to the planets give ; 

My truth to them who at the court do live ; 

Mine ingenuity and openness 

To Jesuits ; to buffoons my pensiveness ; 



304 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

My silence to any who abroad have been ; 
My money to a Capuchin. 
Thou, Love, taught'st me, by appointing me 
To love there, where no love received can be. 
Only to give to such as have an incapacity.* 

My faith I give to Roman Catholics ; 
All my good works unto the schismatics 
Of Amsterdam ; my best civility 
And courtship to a University ; 
My modesty I give to soldiers bare ; 

My patience let gamesters share; 
Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me 
Love her, that holds my love disparity, 
Only to give to those that count my gifts indignity. 

I give my reputation to those 

Which were my friends ; mine industry to foes ; 

To schoolmen I bequeathe my doubtfulness ; 

My sickness to physicians, or excess ; 

To Nature all, that I in rhyme have writ ; 

And to my company my wit. 
Thou, Love, by making me adore 
Her, who begot this love in me before, 
Taught'st me to make, as though I gave, when I 

do but restore. 

To him, for whom the passing-bell next tolls, 
I give my physic-books ; my written rolls 

* Vai\ no good capacity. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 305 

Of moral counsels I to Bedlam give ; 
My brazen medals unto them which live 
In want of bread ; to them which pass among 
All foreigners, mine English tongue ; 
Thou, Love, by making me love one 
Who thinks her friendship a fit portion [tion. 
For younger lovers, dost my gifts thus dispropor- 

Therefore I '11 give no more, but I '11 undo 
The world by dying ; because love dies too. 
Then all your beauties will be no more worth 
Than gold in mines, where none doth draw it 

forth ; 
And all your graces no more use shall have. 

Than a sundial in a grave. 
Thou, Love, taught'st me, by making me 
Love her, who doth neglect both me and thee. 
To invent and practice this one way to annihilate 

all three. 



THE FUNERAL. 

Whoever comes to shroud me, do not harm 

Nor question much 
That subtle wreath of hair which crowns mine 

arm; 
The mystery, the sign you must not touch, 
20 



306 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

For 't is my outward soul, 
Viceroy to that, which unto heaven being gone, 

Will leave this to control 
And keep these limbs, her provinces, from disso- 
lution. 

For if the sinewy thread my brain lets fall 

Through every part. 
Can tie those parts, and make me one of all ; 
Those hairs, which upward grew, and strength 
and art 

Have from a better brain. 
Can better do 't : except she meant that I 

By this should know my pain. 
As prisoners then are manacled, when they 're con- 
demned to die. 

Whate'er she meant by 't, bury it with me ; 

For since I am 
Love's martyr, it might breed idolatry, 
If into other hands these relics came. 

As 't was humility 
To afford to it all that a soul can do. 

So 't is some bravery. 
That, since you would have none of me, I bury 
some of you. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 307 



THE BLOSSOM. 

Little think'st thou, poor flower, 

Whom I have watched six or seven days, 

And seen thy birth, and seen what every hour 

Gave to thy growth, thee to this height to raise, 

And now dost laugh and triumph on this bough. 

Little think'st thou 
That it will freeze anon, and that I shall 
To-morrow find thee fallen, or not at all. 

Little think'st thou poor heart. 

That laborest yet to nestle thee. 
And think'st by hovering here to get a part 
In a forbidden or forbidding tree, 
And hop'st her stiffness by long siege to bow, 

Little think'st thou. 
That thou to-morrow, ere the sun doth wake, 
Must with this sun and me a journey take. 

But thou which lov'st to be 

Subtle to plague thyself, wilt say, 
Alas ! if you must go, what 's that to me ? 
Here lies my business, and here I will stay : 
You go to friends, whose love and means present 

Various content 
To your eyes, ears, and taste, and every part ; 
If then your body go, what need your heart ? 



308 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Well, then stay here : but know, 

When thou hast stayed and done thy most, 

A naked thinking heart, that makes no show, 

Is to a woman but a kind of ghost ; 

How shall she know my heart, or, having none. 
Know thee for one ? 

Practice may make her know some other part. 

But take my word, she doth not know a heart. 

Meet me at London, then, 

Twenty days hence, and thou shalt see 
Me fresher and more fat, by being with men, 
Than if I had stayed still with her and thee. 
For God's sake, if you can, be you so too ; 

I will give you 
There to another friend, whom we shall find 
As glad to have my body as my mind. 



THE PRIMEOSE, BEING AT MONTGOMERY 
CASTLE, UPON THE HILL, ON WHICH IT 
IS SITUATE. 

Upon this primrose hill, 
(Where if Heaven would distil 
A shower of rain, each several drop might go 
To his own primrose, and grow manna so. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 309 

And where their form and their infinity 
Make a terrestrial galaxy. 
As the small stars do in the sky,) 
I walk to find a true-love ; and I see 
That 't is not a mere woman, that is she. 
But must or more or less than woman be. 

Yet know I not, which flower 

I wish ; a six, or four ; 
For should my true-love less than woman be. 
She were scarce anything ; and then, should she 
Be more than woman, she would get above 

All thought of sex, and think to move 

My heart to study her, not to love ; 
Both these were monsters; since there must 

reside 
Falsehood in woman, I could more abide, 
She were by art, than nature falsified. 

Live, primrose, then, and thrive 

With thy true number five ; 
And women, whom this flower doth represent, 
With this mysterious number be content ; 
Ten is the farthest number ; if half ten 

Belongs unto each woman, then 

Each woman may take half us men : 
Or if this will not serve their turn, since all 
Numbers are odd or even, since they fall 
First into five, w^omen may take us all. 



310 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 



THE EELIC. 

When my grave is broke up again 

Some second guest to entertain, 

(For graves have learned that woman-head, 

To be to more than one a bed,) 

And he, that digs it, spies 

A bracelet of bright hair about the bone, 

Will he not let us alone. 
And think that there a loving couple lies, 
Who thought that this device might be some way 
To make their souls, at the last busy day. 
Meet at this grave, and make a little stay ? 

If this fall in a time, or land. 
Where * mis-devotion doth command, 
Then he, that digs us up, will bring 
Us to the Bishop or the King, 
To make us relics ; then 
Thou shalt be a Mary Magdalen, and I 

A something else thereby ; 
All women shall adore us, and some men ; 
And since at such time miracles are sought, 
I would have that age by this paper taught 
What miracles we harmless lovers wrought. 

First we loved well and faithfully, 
Yet knew not what we loved, nor why ; 

* Var. mass. 



POEMS, SOXGS, AND SONNETS. 311 

Difference of sex we never knew, 
No more than guardian angels do ; 
Coming and going we 
Perchance might kiss, but yet between those 
meals 
Our hands ne'er toucht the seals, 
Which nature, injured by late law, set free : 
These miracles we did ; but now, alas ! 
All measure and all language I should pass, 
Should I tell what a miracle she was. 



THE DAMP. 

When I am dead, and doctors know not why. 

And my friends' curiosity 
Will have me cut up, to survey each part, 
When they shall find your picture in my heart. 
You think a sudden damp of love ' 
Will through all their senses move, 
And work on them as me, and so prefer 
Your murder to the name of massacre. 



Poor victories ! but if you dare be brave, 

And pleasure in your conquest have, 
First kill the enormous giant, your Disdain, 
And let the enchantress Honor next be slain ; 



312 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

And like a Goth or Vandal rise, 
Deface records and histories 
Of your own arts and triumphs over men : 
xlnd without such advantage kill me then. 

For I could muster up, as well as you. 
My giants and my witches too. 
Which are vast Constancy, and Secretness, 
But these I neither look for nor profess. 
Kill me as woman, let me die 
As a mere man ; do you but try 
Your passive valor, and you shall find then, 
Naked you 've odds enough of any man. 



THE DISSOLUTION. 

She 's dead, and all which die. 
To their first elements resolve ; 

And we were mutual elements to us. 
And made of one another. 
My body then doth hers involve. 

And those things, whereof I consist, hereby 

In me abundant grow and burdenous. 
And nourish not, but smother. 
My fire of passion, sighs of air. 

Water of tears, and earthy sad despair, 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 313 

Which my materials be, 
(But near worn out by Love's security,) 
She, to my loss, doth by her death repair ; 
And I might live long wretched so, 
But that my fire doth with my fuel grow. 

Now as those active kings, 
Whose foreign conquest treasure brings. 
Receive more, and spend more, and soonest break ; 
This (which I am amazed that I can speak) 

This death hath with my store 
My use increased ; 
And so my soul, more earnestly released, 
Will outstrip hers ; as bullets flown before, 
A later bullet may o'ertake,the powder being mor( 



A JET EING SENT. 

Thou art not so black as my heart. 

Nor half so brittle as her heart thou art ; 

What wouldst thou say ? shall both our proper- 
ties by thee be spoke ? 
Nothing more endless, nothing sooner broke. 

Marriage rings are not of this stuff ; 
Oh I why should aught less precious, or less 
toua;h 



314 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Figure our loves ? except in thy name thou have 
bid it say, 
I 'm cheap and naught but fashion, fling me 
away. 

Yet stay with me, since thou art come. 
Circle this finger's top, which didst her thumb : 
Be justly proud, and gladly safe, that thou dost 
dwell with me ; 
She that, oh ! broke her faith, would soon break 
thee. 



NEGATIVE LOYE. 

I NEVER stooped so low as they, 
Which on an eye, cheek, lip, can prey ; 
Seldom to them, which soar no higher 
Than virtue or the mind to admire 
For sense and understanding may 
Know what gives fuel to their fire : 
, My Love, though silly, is more brave, 
\ For may I miss, whene'er I crave, 
\H I know yet what I would have. 

If that be simply perfectest, 
Which can by no way be exprest 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 315 

But negatives, my love is so. 

To' all, which all love, I say no. 
If any, who deciphers best, 

What we know not (ourselves) can know, 
Let him teach me that nothing. This 
As yet my ease and comfort is, 
Though I speed not, I cannot miss. 



THE PROfflBITIOK 

Take heed of loving me, 
At least remember, I forbad it thee ; 
Not that I shall repair my unthrifty waste 
Of breath and blood, upon thy sighs and tears, 
By being to thee then what to me thou wast ; 
But so great joy our life at once outw^ears : 
Then lest thy love by my death frustrate be 
If thou love me, take heed of loving me. 

Take heed of hating me. 
Or too much triumph in the victory ; 
Not that I shall be mine own officer, 
And hate with hate again retaliate ; 
But thou wilt lose the style of conqueror. 
If I, thy conquest, perish by thy hate : 
Then, lest my being nothing lessen thee, 
If thou hate me, take heed of hating me. 



316 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Yet love and hate me too. 
So these extremes shall ne'er their office do ; 
Love me, that I may die the gentler way : 
Hate me, because thy love 'k too great for me : 
Or let these two themselves, not me, decay ; 
So shall I live thy stage, not triumph be : 
Then lest thy love thou hate, and me undo, 
O let me live, yet love and hate me too. 



THE EXPIRATION. 

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss. 

Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away : 

Turn thou, ghost, that way, and let me turn this. 
And let ourselves benight our happiest day ; 

We ask none leave to love ; nor will we owe 
Any so cheap a death, as saying, go. 

Go ; and if that word have not quite killed thee, 
Ease me with death, by bidding me go too ; 

Or if it have, let my word work on me. 
And a just office on a murderer do ; 

Except it be too late to kill me so. 

Being double dead, going, and bidding go. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 317 



THE COMPUTATION. 

For my first twenty years, since yesterday, 

I scarce believed thou could'st be gone away ; 

For forty more I fed on favors past, 

And forty on hopes, that thou would'st they might 
last. 

Tears drowned one hundred, and sighs blew out 
two ; 
A thousand I did neither think, nor do. 
Or not divide, all being one thought of you : 
Or in a thousand more forgot that too. 

Yet call not this long life ; but think, that I 

Am, by being dead, immortal ; can ghosts die ? 



THE PARADOX. 

No lover saith, I love, nor any other 

Can judge a perfect lover ; 
He thinks that else none can or will agree, 

That any loves but he : 
I cannot say I loved, for who can say 

He was killed yesterday ? 
Love, with excess of heat, more young than old ; 

Death kills with too much cold ; 



318 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

We die but once, and who loved last did die. 

He that saith twice, doth lie : 
For though he seem to move, and stir awhile, 

It doth the sense beguile. 
Such life is like the light, which bideth yet, 

When the life's light is set. 
Or like the heat, which fire in solid matter 

Leaves behind two hours after. 
Once I love and died ; and am now become 

Mine epitaph and tomb. 
Here dead men speak their last, and so do I ; 

Love-slain, lo, here I die. 



SONG. 

Soul's joy, now I am gone. 
And you alone, 
(Which cannot be, 
Since I must leave myself with thee. 
And carry thee with me,) 
Yet when unto our eyes 
Absence denies 
Each other's sight. 
And makes to us a constant night, 
When others change to light : 
O give no way to grief. 
But let belief 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 319 

Of mutual love, 
This wonder to tlie vulgar prove, 
Our bodies, not we, move. 

Let not thy wit beweep 

Words, but sense deep ; 
For when we miss 
By distance our hopes-joining bliss, 
Ev'n then our souls shall kiss : 
Fools have no means to meet. 
But by their feet ; 
Why should our clay 
Over our spirits so much sway, 
To tie us to that way ? 

give no way to grief, 
But let belief 

Of mutual love. 
This wonder to the vulgar prove, 
Our bodies, not we, move. 



FAREWELL TO LOYE. 

Whilst yet to prove 
I thought there was some deity in Love, 

So did I reverence, and gave 
Worship, as atheists, at their dying hour. 
Call, what they cannot name, an unknown power. 

As ignorantly did I crave : 



320 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Thus when 
Things not yet known are coveted by men, 

Our desires give them fashion, and so, 
As they wax lesser, fall, as they size, grow. 

But from late fair 
His Highness (sitting in a golden chair) 

Is not less cared for after three days 
By children, than the thing, which lovers so 
Blindly admire, and with such worship woo : 

Being had, enjoying it decays ; 
And thence. 
What before pleased them all, takes but one sense. 

And that so lamely, as it leaves behind 
A kind of sorrowing dulness to the mind. 

Ah ! cannot we. 
As well as cocks and lions, jocund be 

After such pleasures ? unless wise 
Nature decreed (since each such act, they say, 
Diminisheth the length of life a day) 

This ; as she would man should despise 
The sport. 
Because that other curse of being short, 

And only for a minute made to be 
Eager, desires to raise posterity. 

Since so, my mind 
Shall not desire what no man else can find, 
I '11 no more dote and run 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 321 

To pursue things, which had endamaged me. 
And when I come where moving beauties be, 

As men do, when the summer sun 
Grows great. 
Though I admire their greatness, shun their heat ; 

Each place can afford shadows. If all fail, 
'T is but applying worm-seed to the tail. 



SONG. 

Dear Love, continue nice and chaste, 
For if you yield, you do me wrong ; 
Let duller wits to love's end haste, 
I have enough to woo thee long. 

All pain and joy is in their way ; 
The things we fear bring less annoy 
Than fear, and hope brings greater joy ; 
But in themselves they cannot stay. 

Small favors will my prayers increase ; 
Granting my suit, you give me all ; 
And then my prayers must needs surcease. 
For I have made your Godhead fall. 

Beasts cannot wit nor beauty see, 
They man's affections only move: 
21 



322 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

Beasts other sports of love do prove, 
With better feehng far than we. 

Then, Love, prolong my suit ; for tlius 
By losing sport, I sports do win : 
And that doth virtue prove in us, 
Which ever yet hath been a sin. 

My coming near may spy some ill. 
And now the world is giv'n to scoff: 
To keep my love (then) keep me off. 
And so I shall admire thee still. 

Say, I have made a perfect choice ; 
Satiety ourselves may kill : 
Then give me but thy face and voice. 
Mine eye and ear thou canst not fill. 

To make me rich (oh) be not poor. 
Give me not all, yet something lend ; 
So I shall still my suit commend, 
And you at will do less or more. 
But if to all you condescend. 
My Love, our sport, your Godhead end. 



POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 323 



A LECTURE UPON THE SHADOW. 

Stand still, and I will read to thee 
A lecture, Love, in love's philosophy. 

These three hours that we have spent 
Walking here, two shadows went 
Along with us, which we ourselves produced ; 
But now the sun is just above our head, 
We do those shadows tread ; 
And to brave clearness all things are re- 
duced. 
So whilst our infant loves did grow. 
Disguises did and shadows flow 
From us and our cares : but now 't is not so. 

That love hath not attained the high'st degree, 
Which is still diligent lest others see ; 
Except our loves at this noon stay. 
We shall new shadows make the other way. 

As the first were made to blind 

Others ; tjhese, which come behind, 
Will work upon ^urselves, and blind our eyes. 
If our loves faint, and westwardly decline ; . 

To me thou falsely thine. 

And I to thee mine actions shall dis- 
guise. 
The morning shadows wear away, 



324 POEMS, SONGS, AND SONNETS. 

But these grow longer all the day : 

But oh ! love's day is short, if love decay, 

Love is a growing, or full constant light ; 
And his short minute, after noon, is night. 



THE TOKEN. 

Send me some tokens, that my hope may live, 

Or that my easeless thoughts may sleep and 
rest; 
Send me some honey, to make sweet my hive, 

That in my passions I may hope the best. 
I beg nor ribbon wrought with thy own hands, 

To knit our loves in the fantastic strain [stands 
Of new-touched youth ; nor ring to show the 

Of our affection, that, as that's round and plain, 
So should our loves meet in simplicity ; 

No, nor the corals, which thy wrist infold. 
Laced up together in congruity, [hold ; 

To show our thoughts should rest in the same 
No. nor thy picture, though most gracious, 

And most desired, 'cause 't is like the best ; 
Nor witty lines, which are most copious, 

Within the writings, which thou hast addrest. 

Send me nor this, nor that, t' increase mj 
score ; [more. 

But swear thou think'st I love thee, and no 

THE END OF THE SONGS AND SONNETS. 



325 



He that cannot choose but love, 

And strives against it still, 
Never shall mj fancy move, 

For he loves against his will. 
Nor he which is all his own. 

And cannot pleasure choose ; 
When I am caught, he can be gone. 

And, when he list, refuse. 
Nor he that loves none but fair, 

For such by all are sought ; 
Nor he that can for foul ones care. 

For his judgment then is naught. 
Nor he that hath wit, for he 

Will make me his jest or slave ; 
Nor a fool, for when others .... 

He can neither .... 
Nor he that still his mistress prays, 

For she is thralled therefore ; 
Nor he that pays not, for he says 

Within she 's worth no more. 
Is there then no kind of men. 

Whom I may freely prove ? 
I will vent that humor then 

In this mine own self-love. 



326 



EPIGRAMS. 

HERO AND LEANDEE. 

Both robbed of air, we both lie in one ground, 
Both whom one fire had burnt, one water drowned. 

PYRAMUS AND THISBE. 

Two by themselves each other love and fear ; 
Slain, cruel friends, by parting, have joined here. 

NIOBE. 

By children's births and death I am become 
So dry, that I am now mine own sad tomb. 

A BURNT SHIP. 

Out of a fired ship, which, by no way 
But drowning, could be rescued from the fiame, 
Some men leaped forth, and ever as they came 
Near the foe's ships, did by their shot decay ; 
So all were lost, which in the ship were found, 
They in the sea being burnt, they in the burnt 
ship drowned. 

FALL OF A WALL. 

Under an undermined and shot-bruised wall 
A too bold captain perished by the fall. 
Whose brave misfortune happiest men envied, 
That had a tower for tomb his bones to hide. 



EPIGRAMS. 327 

A LAME BEGGAR. 

I am unable, yonder beggar cries, 

To stand or move ; if he say true, he lies. 

A SELF-ACCUSEK. 

Your Mistress, that you follow whores, still taxeth 

you; 
'Tis strange that she should thus confess it, 

though 't be true. 

A LICENTIOUS PERSON. 

Thy sins and hairs may no man equal call ; 
For as thy sins increase, thy hairs do fall. 

ANTIQUARY. 

If in his study he hath so much care 

To hang old strange things, let his wife beware. 

DISINHERITED. 

Thy father all from thee by his last will 
Gave to the poor ; thou hast good title still. 



Thy flattering picture, Phryne, 's like to thee 
Only in this, that you both painted be. 

AN OBSCURE WRITER. 

Philo with twelve years study hath been grieved 
To be understood ; when will he be believed ? 

Klokius so deeply hath sworn ne'er more to come 
In bawdy-house, that he dares not go home. 



328 EPIGRAMS. 

RADERUS. 

Why this man-gelded Martial, I amuse ; 
Except himself alone his tricks would use, [stews. 
As Katherine, for the Court's sake, put down 

MERCURIUS GALLO-BELGICUS. 

Like Esop's fellow slaves, Mercury, 
Which could do all things, thy faith is ; and I 
Like Esop's self, which nothing ; I confess, 
I should have had more faith, if thou hadst less; 
Thy credit lost thy credit : 'T is sin to do. 
In this case, as thou would'st be done unto. 
To believe all : Change thy name ; thou art like 
Mercury in stealing, but liest like a Greek. 

Compassion in the M^orld again is bred : 
Ralphius is sick, the broker keeps his bed. 

TRANSLATED OUT OF GAZ^US, YOTA AMICO FACTA. 
FOL. 160. 

God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee 
mine, [shine ; 

Thou, who dost, best friend, in best things out- 
May thy soul, ever cheerful, ne'er know cares ; 
Nor thy life, ever lively, know gray hairs ; 
Nor thy hand, ever open, know base holds ; 
Nor thy purse, ever plump, know plaits or folds ; 
Nor thy tongue, ever true, know a false thing ; 
Nor thy words, ever mild, know quarrelling ; 
Nor thy works, ever equal, know disguise ; 
Nor thy fame, ever pure, know contumelies ; 
Nor thy prayers know low objects, still divine ; 
God grant thee thine own wish, and grant thee mine. 



329 



ELEGIES. 



ELEGY I. 



Fond woman, -whicli would'st have thy husband 

die, 
And yet complain'st of his great jealousy : 
If swoln with poison he lay in his last bed. 
His body with a cere-cloth covered. 
Drawing his breath, as thick and short as can 
The nimblest crotcheting musician, 
Ready with loathsome vomiting to spew 
His soul out of one hell into a new, 
Made deaf with his poor kindred's howling cries. 
Begging with few feigned tears great legacies. 
Thou would'st not weep, but jolly and frolic be. 
As a slave, which to-morrow should be free ; 
Yet weep'st thou, when thou seest him hungerly 
Swallow his own death, heart's-bane jealousy. 
give him many thanks, he 's courteous, 
That in suspecting kindly warneth us ; 
We must not, as we used, flout openly, 



330 ELEGIES. 

In scoffing riddles, his deformity, 

Nor, at his board together being sat. 

With words, nor touch, scarce looks, adulterate. 

Nor, when he, swoln and pampered with high 

fare 
Sits down and snorts, caged in his basket-chair. 
Must we usurp his own bed any more, 
Nor kiss and play in his house, as before. 
Now do I see my danger ; for it is 
His realm, his castle, and his diocese. 
But if (as envious men, which would revile 
Their Prince, or coin his gold, themselves exile 
Into another country and do it there) 
We play in another's house, what should we 

fear? 
There will we scorn his household policies, 
His silly plots and pensionary spies ; 
As the inhabitants of Thames' right side 
Do London's Mayor, or Germans the Pope's 

pride. 



331 



ELEGY 11. 



THE AKAGRAM. 



Marry, and love thy Flavia, for she 
Hath all things, whereby others beauteous be ; 
For though her eyes be small, her mouth is great ; 
Though theirs be ivory, yet her teeth be jet ; 
Though they be dim, yet she is light enough. 
And though her harsh hair fall, her skin is 

tough ; 
What though her cheeks be yellow, her hair 's red. 
Give her thine, and she hath a maidenhead. 
These things are beauty's elements ; where these 
Meet in one, that one must, as perfect, please. 
If red and white, and each good quality 
Be in thy wench, ne'er ask where it doth lie. 
In buying things perfumed, we ask if there 
Be musk and amber in it, but not where. 
Though all her parts be not in the usual place, 
She hath yet the anagram of a good face. 
If we might put the letters but one way. 
In that lean dearth of words, what could we say ? 
When by the gamut some musicians make 
A perfect song, others will undertake, 
By the same gamut changed, to equal it. 
Things simply good can never be unfit ; 



332 ELEGIES. 

She 's fair as any, if all be like her ; 

And if none be, then she is singular. 

All love is wonder ; if we justly do 

Account her wonderful, why not lovely too ? 

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies ; 

Choose this face, changed by no deformities. 

Women are all like angels ; the fair be 

Like those, which fell to worse : but such as she, 

Like to good angels, nothing can impair : 

'Tis less grief to be foul, than to have been fair. 

For one night's revels silk and gold we choose, 

But in long journeys cloth and leather use. 

Beauty is barren oft ; best husbands say. 

There is best land, where ther6 is foulest way. 

Oh what a sovereign plaster will she be. 

If thy past sins have taught thee jealousy ! 

Here needs no spies nor eunuchs, her commit 

Safe to thy foes, yea, to a Marmosit. 

When Belgia's cities the round country drowns, 

That dirty foulness guards and arms the towns ; 

So doth her face guard her ; and so for thee. 

Who, forced by business, absent oft must be ; 

She, whose face, like clouds, turns the day to 

night. 
Who, mightier than the sea, makes Moors seem 

white ; 
Whom, though seven years she in the stews had 

laid, 
A nunnery durst receive, and think a maid ; 



ELEGIES. 333 

And though in childbirth's labour she did lie, 
Midwives would swear, 't were but a tympany ; 
Whom, if she accuse herself, I credit less 
Than witches, which impossibles confess. 
One like none, and liked of none, fittest were ; 
For things in fashion every man will wear. 



ELEGY m. 



Although thy hand and faith and good works 

too 
Have sealed thy love, which nothing should undo ; 
Yea, though thou fall back, that apostasy 
Confirms thy love ; yet much, much I fear thee. 
"Women are like the arts, forced unto none, 
Open to all searchers, unprized if unknown. 
If I have caught a bird, and let him fly. 
Another fowler, using those means as I, 
May catch the same bird ; and, as these things be, 
Women are made for men, not him, nor me. 
Foxes and goats, all beasts change, when they 

please, 
Shall women, more hot, wily, wild, than these. 
Be bound to one man ? and did nature then 
Idly make them apter to endure than men ? 



334 ELEGIES. 

They 're our clogs, not their own ; if a man be 

Chained to a galley, yet the galley's free. 

Who hath a plough-land, casts all his seed-corn 

there, 
And yet allows his ground more corn should bear ; 
Though Danuby into the sea must flow, 
The sea receives the Rhine, Volga, and Po, 
By nature, which gave it this liberty. 
Thou lov'st, but oh ! can'st thou love it and me ? 
Likeness glues love ; and if that thou so do. 
To make us like and love, must I change too ? 
More than thy hate, I hate it ; rather let me 
Allow her change, than change as oft as she ; 
And so not teach, but force my opinion, 
To love not any one, nor every one. 
To live in one land is captivity, 
To run all countries a wild roguery ; 
Waters stink soon, if in one place they abide, 
And in the vast sea are more putrefied : 
But when they kiss one bank, and leaving this 
Never look back, but the next bank do kiss. 
Then are they purest ; Change is the nursery 
Of music, joy, life, and eternity. 



335 



ELEGY IV. 



THE PERFUME. 



Once, and but once, found in thy company, 
All thy supposed 'scapes are laid on me ; 
And as a thief at bar is questioned there 
By all the men that have been robbed that year, 
So am I (by this traitorous means surprised) 
By thy hydroptic father catechized. 
Though he had wont to search with glazed eyes, 
As though he came to kill a cockatrice ; 
Though he hath oft sworn that he would remove 
Thy beauty's beauty, and food of our love, 
Hope of his goods, if I with thee were seen ; 
Yet close and secret, as our souls, we 've been. 
Though thy immortal mother, which doth lie 
Still buried in her bed, yet will not die. 
Takes this advantage to sleep out daylight, 
And watch thy entries and returns all night ; 
And when she takes thy hand, and would seem 

kind, 
Doth search what rings and armlets she can find ; 
And kissing notes the color of thy face. 
And, fearing lest thou 'rt swoln, doth thee embrace ; 
And, to try if thou long, doth name strange meats, 
And notes thy paleness, blushes, sighs, and sweats, 



And politicly will to thee confess 
The sins of her own youth's rank lustiness ; 
Yet love these sorceries did remove, and move 
Thee to gull thine own mother for my love. 
Thy little brethren, which like fairy sprites 
Oft skipt into our chamber those sweet nights, 
And kissed, and ingled on thy father's knee, 
Were bribed next day to tell what they did see : 
The grim eight-foot-high iron-bound serving-man, 
That oft names God in oaths, and only than. 
He that to bar the first gate doth as wide 
As the great E-hodian Colossus stride, 
Which, if in hell no other pains there were, 
Makes me fear hell, because he must be there : 
Though by thy father he were hired to this, 
Could never witness any touch or kiss. 
But, O ! to common ill, I brought with me 
That, which betrayed me to mine enemy, — 
A loud perfume, which at my entrance cried 
Ev'n at thy father's nose, — so were we spied, 
When, like a tyrant king, that in his bed 
Smelt gunpowder, the pale wretch shivered ; 
Had it been some bad smell, he would have 

thought 
That his own feet or breath the smell had wrought ; 
But as we in our isle imprisoned. 
Where cattle only and divers dogs are bred, 
The precious unicorns strange monsters call, 
So thought he sweet strange, that had none at all. 
I taught my silks their w^histling to forbear, 



ELEGIES. 337 

Ev'n my opprest shoes dumb and speechless were : 
Only, thou bitter sweet, whom I had laid 
Next me, me traitorously hast betrayed, 
And, unsuspected, hast invisibly 
At once fled unto him, and stayed with me. 
Base excrement of earth, which dost confound 
Sense from distinguishing the sick from sound ; 
By thee the silly amorous sucks his death, 
By drawing in a leprous harlot's breath ; 
By thee the greatest stain to man's estate 
Falls on us, — to be called effeminate ; 
Though you be much loved in the Prince's hall, 
There things, that seem, exceed substantial. 
Gods, when ye fumed on altars, were pleased well. 
Because you were burnt, not that they liked your 

smell. 
You 're loathsome all, being taken simply alone. 
Shall we love ill things joined, and hate each one ? 
If you were good, your good doth soon decay ; 
And you are rare, that takes the good away. 
All my perfumes I give most willingly 
T' enbalm thy father's corse; What? will he 

die? 



22 



338 



ELEGY V. 



HIS PICTURE. 



Here take my picture ; though I bid farewell : 
Thine in my heart, where my soul dwells, shall 

dwell, 
'T is like me now, but, I dead, 't will be more. 
When we are shadows both, than 't was before. 
When weather-beaten I come back ; my hand 
Perhaps with rude oars torn, or sunbeams tann'd ; 
My face and breast of haircloth, and my head 
With care's harsh sudden hoariness o'erspread ; 
My body a sack of bones, broken within, 
And powder's blue stains scattered on my skin : 
If rival fools tax thee to have loved a man 
So foul and coarse, as, oh ! I may seem then. 
This shall say what I was : and thou shalt say. 
Do his hurts reach me ? doth my worth decay ? 
Or do they reach his judging mind, that he 
Should now love less, what he did love to see ? 
That which in him was fair and delicate. 
Was but the milk, which in love's childish state 
Did nurse it : who now is grown strong enough 
To feed on that, which to weak tastes seems 

tough. 



339 



ELEGY VI. 

Oh ! let me not serve so, as those men serve, 
Whom honor's smokes at once fatten * and starve, 
Poorly enricht with great men's words or looks ; 
Nor so write my name in thy loving books, 
As those idolatrous flatterers, which still 
Their Prince's styles with many realms t fulfill, 
Whence they no tribute have, and wherej no 

sway. 
Such services I offer as shall pay 
Themselves ; I hate dead names : oh then let me 
Favorite in ordinary, or no favorite be. 
When my soul was in her own body sheathed, 
Nor yet by oaths betrothed, nor kisses breathed 
Into my purgatory, faithless thee ; 
Thy heart seemed wax, and steel thy constancy : 
So careless flowers, strewn on the water's face. 
The curled whirlpools suck, smack, and embrace. 
Yet drown them ; so the taper's beamy eye, 
Amorously twinkling, beckons the giddy fly, 
Yet burns his wings ; and such the Devil is. 
Scarce visiting them who are entirely his. 
When I behold a stream, which from the spring 
Doth with doubtful melodious murmuring, 

* Var. flatter. f Var. names. | Var. bear. 



340 ELEGIES. 

Or in a speechless slumber calmly ride 

Her wedded channel's bosom, and then * chide 

And bend her brows and swell, if any bough 

Do but stoop down to kiss her upmost brow, 

Yet if her often-gnawing kisses win 

The traitorous banks to gape and let her in, 

She rusheth violently and doth divorce 

Her from her native and her long-kept course. 

And roars and braves it and in gallant scorn. 

In flattering eddies promising return, 

She flouts her channel which thenceforth is dry ; 

Then say I, that is she, and this am I. 

Yet let not thy deep bitterness beget 

Careless despair in me, for that will whet 

My mind to scorn ; and, oh ! Love dulled with 

pain. 
Was ne'er so wise, nor well armed, as Disdain. 
Then with new eyes I shall survey thee and spy 
Death in thy cheeks, and darkness in thine eye: 
Though hope breed faith and love, thus taught, I 

shall. 
As nations do from Rome, from thy love fall ; 
My hate shall outgrow thine, and utterly 
I will renounce thy dalliance : and when I 
Am the recusant, in that resolute state 
What hurts it me to be excommunicate ? 



341 



ELEGY Vn. 

Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love, 
And in that sophistry, oh ! thou dost prove 
Too subtile ! Fool, thou didst not understand 
The mystic language of the eye nor hand : 
Nor could'st thou judge the diJBference of the air 
Of sighs, and say, this lies, this sounds despair : 
Nor by the eye's water know a malady 
Desperately hot, or changing feverously. 
I had not taught thee then the alphabet 
Of flowers, how they, devicefuUy being set 
And bound up, might with speechless secrecy 
Deliver errands mutely and mutually. 
Remember, since all thy words used to be 
To every suitor. Ay, if my friends agree ; 
Since household charms, thy husband's name to 

teach. 
Were all the love-tricks that thy wit could 

reach ; 
And since an hour's discourse could scarce have 

made 
One answer in thee, and that ill-arrayed 
In broken proverbs and torn sentences ; 
Thou art not by so many duties his, 
(That, from the world's common having severed 

thee. 
Inlaid thee, neither to be seen, nor see,) 



342 ELEGIES. 

As mine, who have with amorous delicacies 
E-efined thee into a blissful paradise. 
Thy graces and good works my creatures be, 
I planted knowledge and life's tree in thee. 
Which, oh ! shall strangers taste ? Must I, alas ! 
Frame and enamel plate, and drink in glass ? 
Chafe wax for other's seals ? break a colt's force, 
And leave him then being made a ready horse ? 



ELEGY ym. 



THE COMPARISON. 



As the sweet sweat of roses in a still. 

As that, which from chafed muskcat's pores doth 

trill. 
As the almighty balm of the early East, 
Such are the sweat-drops of my mistress' breast ; 
And on her neck her skin such lustre sets. 
They seem no sweat-drops, but pearl coronets. 
: Rank sweaty froth thy mistress' brow defiles, 
. Like spermatic issue of ripe menstruous boils ; 
^' Or like the scum, which, by need's lawless law 
Enforced, Sanserra's starved men did draw 
From parboiled shoes and boots, and all the rest. 
Which were with any sovereign fatness blest ; 



ELEGIES. 343 

And like vile lying stones in saffroned tin, 

Or warts, or weals, it hangs upon her skin. 

Round as the world 's her head, on every side, \ 

Like to the fatal ball which fell on Ide : 

Or that, whereof God had such jealousy. 

As for the ravishing thereof we die. 

Thy head is like a rough-hewn statue of jet, 

"Where marks for eyes, nose, mouth, are yet scarce 

set ; 
Like the first Chaos, or flat seeming face 
Of Cynthia, when the earth's shadows her embrace. 
Like Proserpine's white beauty-keeping chest. 
Or Jove's best fortune's urn, is her fair breast. 
Thine 's like worm-eaten trunks clothed in seal's 

skin, 
Or grave, that 's dust without, and stink within. 
And like that slender stalk, at whose end stands 
The woodbine quivering, are her arms and hands. 
Like rough-barked elm-boughs, or the russet skin 
Of men late scourged for madness or for sin ; 
Like sun-parched quarters on the city gate. 
Such is thy tanned skin's lamentable state : 
And like a bunch of ragged carrots stand 
\ The short swollen fingers of thy mistress' hand. 
Then like the chymic's masculine equal fire, 
"Which in the limbec's warm womb doth inspire 
Into the earth's worthless dirt a soul of gold. 
Such cherishing heat her best-loved part doth hold. 
Thine 's like the dread mouth of a fired gun. 
Or like hot liquid metals newly run 



344 ELEGIES. 

Into clay moulds, or like to that JEtna, 
Where round about the grass is burnt away. 
I Are not your kisses then as iilthy and more, 
' As a worm sucking an envenomed sore ? 
Doth not thy fearful hand in feeling quake. 
As one which gathering flowers still fears a snake ? 
i Is not your last act harsh and violent, 
As when a plough a stony ground doth rent ? 
So kiss good turtles, so devoutly nice 
Are priests reverent in handling sacrifice. 
And nice in searching wounds the surgeon is. 
As we, when we embrace, or touch, or kiss : 
Leave her, and I will leave comparing thus, 
She and comparisons are odious. 



ELEGY IX. 

THE AUTUMNAL. 

No Spring, nor Summer's beauty hath such grace. 
As I have seen in one autumnal face. 

Young beauties force our loves,* and that's a rape ; 
This doth but counsel, yet you cannot 'scape. 

If 't were a shame to love, here 't were no shame : 
Affections here take Eeverence's name. 

* Var. your love. Ed. 1635. 



ELEGIES. 345 

Were her first years the golden age ? that 's true ; 

But now she 's gold oft tried, and ever new. 
That was her torrid and inflaming time ; 

This is her habitable tropic clime. 
Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from 
hence, 

He in a fever wishes pestilence. 
Call not these wrinkles graves : if graves they 
were, 

They were Love's graves ; or else he is no- 
where. 
Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit 

Vowed to this trench, like an anachorit. 
And here, till her's, which must be his death, 
come. 

He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb. 
Here dwells he ; though he sojourn everywhere 

In progress, yet his standing-house is here ; 
Here, where still evening is, not noon nor night, 

Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight. 
In all her words, unto all hearers fit. 

You may at revels, you at councils sit. 
This is love's timber, youth his underwood ; 

There he, as wine in June, enrages blood. 
Which then comes seasonablest, when our taste 

And appetite to other things is past. 
Xerxes's strange Lydian love, the platane tree, 

Was loved for age, none being so old as she. 
Or else because, being young, nature did bless 

Her youth with age's glory, barrenness. 



346 ELEGIES. 

If we love things long sought, age is a thing, 

Which we. are fifty years in compassing; 
If transitory things, which soon decay, 

Age must be loveliest at the latest day. 
But name not winter-faces, whose skin 's slack ; 

Lank as an unthrift's purse ; but a soul's * 
sack; 
Whose eyes seek light within, for all here 's shade ; 

Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than 
made ; 
Whose every tooth to a several place is gone 

To vex the soul at resurrection ; 
Name not these living death-heads unto me. 

For these not ancient but antique be : 
I hate extremes : yet I had rather stay 

With tombs than cradles, to wear out the day. 
Since such love's natural station is, may still 

My love descend, and journey down the hill ; 
Not panting after growing beauties ; so 

I shall ebb on with them, who homeward go. 

* Far. fool's. Ed. 1635. 



347 



ELEGY X. 



THE DREAM. 



Image of her, whom I love more than she, 

"Whose fair impression in my faithful heart 
Makes me her medal, and makes her love me. 

As kings do coins, to which their stamps impart 
The value : go, and take my heart from hence, 

Which now is grown too great and good for 
me. 
Honors oppress weak spirits, and our sense 

Strong objects dull ; the more, the less we see. 
When you are gone, and reason gone with you. 

Then Phantasy is queen, and soul, and all; 
She can present joys meaner than you do ; 

Convenient, and more proportional. 
So if I dream I have you, I have you ; 

For all our joys are but fantastical. 
And so I 'scape the pain, for pain is true ; 

And sleep, which locks up sense, doth lock out 
all. 
After a such fruition I shall wake. 

And, but the waking, nothing shall repent ; 
And shall to Love more thankful sonnets make. 

Than if more honor, tears, and pains were spent. 
But dearest heart, and dearer image, stay, 

Alas ! true joys at best are dreams enough; 



348 ELEGIES. 

Though you stay here, you pass too fast away : 
For even at first life's taper is a snuff. 

Filled with her love, may I be rather grown 
Mad with much heart, than idiot with none. 



H 



ELEGY XI. 

UPON THE LOSS OF HIS MISTKESS'S CHAIN, FOR 
WHICH HE MADE SATISFACTION. 

Not, that in color it was like thy hair, 
Armlets of that thou may'st still let me wear ; 
Nor, that thy hand it oft embraced and kist. 
For so it had that good, which oft I mist ; 
Nor for that silly old morality, 
That as these links were knit, our loves should be ; 
Mourn I, that I thy sevenfold chain have lost : 
Nor for the luck's sake ; but the bitter cost. 
O ! shall twelve righteous angels, which as yet 
No leaven of vile solder did admit. 
Nor yet by any way have strayed or gone 
From the first state of their creation ; 
Angels, which heaven commanded to provide 
All things to me, and be my faithful guide ; 
To gain new friends, to appease old * enemies ; 
* Var. great. Ed. 1635. 



ELEGIES. 349 

To comfort my soul, when I lie or rise ; 
Shall these twelve innocents by thy severe 
Sentence (dread judge) my sin's great burden 

bear ? 
Shall they be damned, and in the furnace thrown, 
And punished for offences not their own ? 
They save not me, they do not ease my pains, 
When in that hell they 're burnt and tied in chains : 
Were they but crowns of France, I cared not, 
For most of them their country's natural rot, 
I think, possesseth, they come here to us, 
So pale, so lame, so lean, so ruinous ; 
And howsoe'er French kings most Christian be , 
Their crowns are circumcised most Jewishly ; 
Or were they Spanish stamps still travelling, 
That are become as catholic as their king. 
Those unlickt bear-whelps, unfiled pistolets, 
That (more than cannon-shot) avails or lets, 
Which, negligently left unrounded, look 
Like many-angled figures in the book 
Of some dread conjurer, that would enforce 
Nature, as these do justice, from her course. 
Which, as the soul quickens head, feet, and heart, , 
As streams like veins run through the earth's 

every part, 
Visit all countries, and have slyly made 
Gorgeous France ruined ; ragged and decayed, 
Scotland, which knew no state, proud in one day : 
And mangled seventeen-headed Belgia : 



350 ELEGIES. 

Or were it such gold as that, wherewithal 

Almighty chymics from each mineral 

Having by subtle fire a soul out-pulled, 

Are dirtily and desperately gulled : 

I would not spit to quench the fire they 're in, 

For they are guilty of much heinous sin. 

But shall my harmless angels perish ? Shall 

I lose my guard, my ease, my food, my all ? 

Much hope, which they should nourish, will be 

dead. 
Much of my able youth and lusty-head 
Will vanish if thou, Love, let them alone. 
For thou wilt love me less, when they are gone. 
And be content, that some lewd squeaking 

cryer. 
Well-pleased with one lean threadbare groat for 

hire. 
May like a devil roar-through every street. 
And gall the finder's conscience, if they meet. 
Or let me creep to some dread conjurer, 
That with fantastic scenes fills full much paper ; 
Which hath divided heaven in tenements. 
And with whores, thieves, and murderers stuft his 

rents 
So full, that, though he pass them all in sin, 
He leaves himself no room to enter in. 

But if, when all his art and time is spent. 
He say 't will ne'er be found, yet be content ; 
Keceive from him the doom ungrudgingly. 
Because he is the mouth of Destiny. 



ELEGIES. 351 

Thou say'st (alas) the gold doth still remain. 
Though it be changed, and put into a chain ; 
So in the first fain angels resteth still 
Wisdom and knowledge, but 't is turned to ill ; 
As these should do good works, and should provide 
Necessities, but now must nurse thy pride : 
And they are still bad angels : mine are none : 
For form gives being ; and their form is gone : 
Pity these angels yet : their dignities 
Pass Virtues, Powers, and Principalities. 

But thou art resolute ; thy will be done ; 
Yet with such anguish, as her only son 
The mother in the hungry grave doth lay, 
Unto the fire these martyrs I betray. 
Good souls, (for you give life to every thing,) 
Good angels, (for good messages you bring,) 
Destined you might have been to such a one, 
As would have loved and worshipped you alone : 
One that would suffer hunger, nakedness, 
Yea, death, ere he would make your number less. 
But I am guilty of your sad decay : 
May your few fellows longer with me stay ! 

But oh, thou wretched finder, whom I hate 
So, that I almost pity thy estate. 
Gold being the heaviest metal amongst all. 
May my most heavy curse upon thee fall : 
Here fettered, manacled, and hanged in chains 
First may'st thou be ; then chained to hellish pains ; 
Or be with foreign gold bribed to betray 
Thy country, and fail both of it and thy pay. 



352 ELEGIES. 

May the next thing thou stoop'st to reach, con- 
tain 
Poison, whose nimble fume rot thy moist brain ; 
Or libels, or some interdicted thing, 
Which, negligently kept, thy ruin bring. 
Lust-bred diseases rot thee ; and dwell with thee 
Itching desire, and no ability. 
May all the evils, that gold ever wrought, 
All mischief, that all devils ever thought, 
Want after plenty, poor and gouty age. 
The plague of travellers, love, and marriage 
Afflict thee ; and at thy life's last moment 
May thy swoln sins themselves to thee present. 

But I forgive : repent, thou honest man : 
Gold is restorative, restore it, than : 
But if that from it thou be'st loath to part. 
Because 't is cordial, would 't were at thy heart. 



ELEGY Xn. 

Come, Fates ; I fear you not. All, whom I owe. 
Are paid but you. Then rest me ere I go. 
But chance from you all sovereignty hath got. 
Love woundeth none but those, whom death dares 
not: 



i 



ELEGIES. 353 

True if you were, and just in equity, 

I should have vanquished her, as you did me. 

Else lovers should not brave death's pains, and 

live : 
But 't is a rule, Death comes not to relieve. 
Or paltfe and wan Death's terrors, are they laid 
So deep in lovers they make Death afraid ? 
Or (the least comfort) have I company ? 
Or can the Fates love Death, as well as me ? 

Yes, Fates do silk unto her distaff pay 
For ransom, which tax they on us do lay. 
Love gives her youth, which is the reason why 
Youths, for her sake, some wither and some die. 
Poor Death can nothing give ; yet for her sake. 
Still in her turn, he doth a lover take. 
And if Death should prove false, she fears him not, 
Our Muses to redeem her she hath got. 
That fatal night we last kissed, I thus prayed, 
(Or rather thus despaired, I should have said,) 
Kisses, and yet despair. The forbid tree 
Did promise (and deceive) no more than she. 
Like lambs that see their teats, and must eat hay, 
A food, whose taste hath made me pine away ; 
Dives, when thou saw'st bliss, and crav'dst to 

touch 
A drop of water, thy great pains were such. 
Here grief wants a fresh wit, for mine being spent, 
And my sighs weary, groans are all my rent ; 
Unable longer to endure the pain. 
They break like thunder, and do bring down rain. 
23 



354 ELEGIES. 

Thus, till dry tears solder mine eyes, I weep : 
And then I dream, how you securely sleep, 
jAnd in your dreams do laugh at me. I hate, 
And pray Love all may : He pities my state, 
But says, I therein no revenge shall find ; 
The sun would shine, though all the world were 

blind. 
Yet, to try my hate, Love shov/ed me your tear; 
And I had died, had not your smile been there. 
Your frown undoes me ; your smile is my wealth ; 
And as you please to look, I have my health. 
Methought Love, pitying me, when he saw this. 
Gave me your hands, the backs and palms, to kiss. 
That cured me not, but to bear pain gave strength ; 
And what is lost in force, is took in length. 
I called on Love again, who feared you so. 
That his compassion still proved greater woe : 
For then I dreamed I was in bed with you. 
But durst not feel, for fear 't should not be true. 
This merits not our anger, had it been ; 
The Queen of Chastity was naked seen : 
And in bed, not to feel, the pain I took. 
Was more than for Actaeon not to look. 
And that breast, which lay ope, I did not know 
But for the clearness, from a lump of snow. 



355 



ELEGY Xni. 

HIS PARTING FROM HER. 

Since she must go, and I must mourn, come 

night, 
Environ me with darkness, whilst I write : 
Shadow that hell unto me, which alone 
I am to suffer, when my love is gone. 
Alas ! the darkest magic cannot do it, 
And that great hell to boot are shadows to it. 
Should Cynthia quit thee, Venus, and each star. 
It would not form one thought dark as mine are ; 
I could lend them obscureness now, and say 
Out of myself, there should be no more day. 
Such is already my self-want of sight, 
Did. not the fire within me force a light. 
O Love, that fire and darkness should be mixt. 
Or to thy triumphs such strange torments fixt ! 
Is 't because thou thyself art blind, that we. 
Thy martyrs, must no more each other see ? 
Or tak'st thou pride to break us on thy wheel, 
And view old Chaos in the pains we feel ? 
Or have we left undone some mutual rite. 
That thus with parting thou seek'st us to spite ? 
No, no. The fault is mine, impute it to me, 
Or rather to conspiring Destiny ; 



356 ELEGIES. 

Which (since I loved) for me before decreed, 

That I should suffer, when I loved indeed : 

And therefore sooner now, than I can say 

I saw the golden fruit, 't is rapt away. 

Or as I had watcht one drop in the vast stream, 

And I left wealthy only in a" dream. 

Yet, Love, thou 'rt blinder than thyself in this. 

To vex my dove-like friend for my amiss: 

And, where one sad truth may expiate 

Thy wrath, to make her fortune run my fate. 

So blinded Justice doth, when favorites fall. 

Strike them, their house, their friends, their 

favorites all. 
Was 't not enough that thou didst dart thy fires 
Into our bloods, inflaming our desires. 
And mad'st us sigh and blow, and pant, and burn, 
And then thyself into our flames didst turn ? 
Was 't not enough, that thou didst hazard us 
To paths in love so dark and dangerous : 
And those so ambushed round with household 

spies. 
And over all thy husband's lowering eyes 
Inflamed with the ugly sweat of jealousy. 
Yet went we not still on in constancy ? 
Have we for this kept guards, like spy o'er spy ? 
Had correspondence, whilst the foe stood by ? 
Stoln (more to sweeten them) our many blisses 
Of meetings, conference, embracements, kisses ? 
Shadowed with negligence our best respects ? 
Varied our lanojuaore throuo^h all dialects 



ELEGIES. -357 

Of becks, winks, looks, and often under boards 
Spoke dialogues with our feet far from our 

words ? 
Have we proved all the secrets of our art, 
Yea, thy pale inwards and thy panting heart ? 
And after all this passed purgatory 
Must sad divorce make us the vulgar story ? 
First let our eyes be riveted quite through 
Our turning brains, and both our lips grow to : 
Let our arms clasp like ivy, and our fear 
Freeze us together, that we may stick here ; 
Till Fortune, that would ruin us with the deed, 
Strain his eyes open, and yet make them bleed. 
For Love it cannot be, whom hitherto 
I have accused, should such a mischief do. 

Fortune, thou 'rt not worth my least exclaim, 
And plague enough thou hast in thy own name : 
Do thy great worst, my friend and I have arms. 
Though not against thy strokes, against thy harms. 
Rend us in sunder, thou canst not divide 

Our bodies so, but that our souls are tied, 
And we can love by letters still, and gifts. 
And thoughts, and dreams ; Love never wanteth 
shifts. 

1 will not look upon the quickening sun. 

But straight her beauty to my sense shall run ; 
The air shall note her soft, the fire most pure ; 
Waters suggest her clear, and the earth sure ; 
Time shall not lose our passages ; the Spring, 
How fresh our love was in the becrinninsr ; 



358 ELEGIES. 

The Summer, how it inripened the year ; 
And Autumn, what our golden harvests were. 
The Winter I '11 not think on to spite thee, 
But count it a lost season, so shall she. 
And, dearest friend, since we must part, drown 

night 
With hope of day ; burdens well borne are light. 
The cold and darkness longer hang somewhere, 
Yet Phoebus equally lights all the sphere. 
And what we cannot in like portion pay. 
The world enjoys in mass, and so w^e may. 
Be ever then yourself, and let no woe 
Win on your health, your youth, your beauty : so 
Declare yourself base Fortune's enemy, 
No less be your contempt than her inconstancy : 
That I may grow enamoured on your mind, 
When my own thoughts I here neglected find. 
And this to the comfort of my dear I vow. 
My deeds shall still be, what my deeds are now ; 
The poles shall move to teach me ere I start. 
And when I change my Love, I'll change my 

heart ; 
Nay, if I wax but cold in my desire. 
Think, heaven hath motion lost, and the world fire : 
Much more I could ; but many words have made 
That oft suspected, which men most persuade : 
Take therefore all in this ; I love so true, 
As I will never look for less in you. 



359 



ELEGY XIV. 



Hakk, news, O Envy, thou shalt hear descried 
My Julia ; who as yet was ne'er envied. 
To vomit gall in slander, swell her veins 
With calumny, that hell itself disdains, 
Is her continual practice, does her best. 
To tear opinion ev'n out of the breast 
Of dearest friends, and (which is worse than vile) 
Sticks jealousy in wedlock ; her own child 
'Scapes not the showers of envy : To repeat 
The monstrous fashions, how, were alive to eat 
Dear reputation ; would to God she were 
But half so loath to act vice, as to hear 
My mild reproof : Lived Mantuan now again, 
That female Mastix to limn with his pen 
This she Chimera, that hath eyes of fire, 
Burning with anger (anger feeds desire) 
/ Tongued like the night-crow, whose ill-boding cries 
Give out for nothing but new injuries. 
.Her breath like to the juice in Tenarus, 
y That blasts the springs, though ne'er so prosperous. 
Her hands, I know not how, used more to spill 
The food of others, than herself to fill. 
, But oh her mind, that Orcus, which includes 
'^ Legions of mischief, countless multitudes 



360 ELEGIES. 

Of former curses, projects unmade up, 
Abuses yet unfashioned, thoughts corrupt. 
Misshapen cavils, palpable untroths, 
Inevitable errors, self-accusing loaths : 
These, like those atoms swarming in the sun, 
Throng in her bosom for creation. 
I blush to give her half her due ; yet say, 
No poison 's half so bad as JuHa. 



ELEGY XV. 

A TALE OF A CITIZEN AND HIS WIFE. 

I SING no harm, good sooth, to any wight. 

To lord, to fool, cuckold, beggar or knight. 

To peace-teaching lawyer, proctor, or brave 

Reformed or reduced captain, knave. 

Officer, juggler, or justice of peace. 

Juror or judge ; I touch no fat sow's grease ; 

I am no libeller, nor will be any. 

But (like a true man) say there are too many 

I fear not ore tenus, for my tale 

Nor count nor counsellor will red or pale. 

A citizen and his wife the other day, 
Both riding on one horse, upon the way 
I overtook ; the wench a pretty peat, 
And (by her eye) well fitting for the feat ; 



ELEGIES. 361 

I saw the lecherous citizen turn back 

His head, and on his wife's lip steal a smack, 

Whence apprehending that the man was kind, 

Riding before to kiss his wife behind. 

To get acquaintance with him I began. 

And sort discourse fit for so fine a man ; 

I asked the number of the plaguy bill, 

Asked if the custom-farmers held out still. 

Of the Virginian plot, and whether Ward 

The traffic of the midland seas had marred ; 

Whether the Britain Bourse did fill apace, 

And likely were to give the Exchange disgrace ; 

Of new-built Aldgate, and the Moorfield crosses, 

Of store of bankrupts and poor merchants' losses, 

I urged him to speak ; but he (as mute 

As an old courtier worn to his last suit) 

Replies with only yeas and nays ; at last 

(To fit his element) my theme I cast 

On tradesmen's gains ; that set his tongue agoing, 

Alas, good Sir (quoth he) there is no doing 

In court nor city now : she smiled and I, 

And (in my conscience) both gave him the lie 

In one met thought. But he went on apace. 

And at the present times with such a face 

He railed, as frayed me; for he gave no praise 

To any but my Lord of Essex's days : 

Called those the age of action : true (quoth he) 

There 's now as great an itch of bravery. 

And heat of taking up, but cold lay-down ; 

For put to push of pay, away they run : 



362 ELEGIES. 

Our only city trades of hope now are 
Bawds, tavern-keepers, whore and scrivener ; 
The much of privileged kinsmen, and the store 
Of fresh protections make the rest all poor : 
In the first state of their creation 
Though many stoutly stand, yet proves not one 
A righteous paymaster. Thus ran he on 
In a continued rage : so void of reason 
Seemed his harsh talk, I sweat for fear of treason. 
And (troth) how could I less ? when in the prayer 
For the protection of the wise Lord Mayor, 
And his wise brethren's worships when -one 

prayeth. 
He swore that none could say amen with faith. 
To get him off from what I glowed to hear, 
(In happy time) an angel did appear. 
The bright sign of a loved and well-tried inn, 
Where many citizens with their wives had been 
Well-used and often ; here I prayed him stay, 
To take some due refreshment by the way ; 
Look, how he looked that hid his gold, his hope. 
And at's return found nothing but a rope; 
So he on me ; refused and made away. 
Though willing she pleaded a weary day : 
I found my miss, struck hands, and prayed him 

tell 
(To hold acquaintance still) where he did dwell ; 
He barely named the street, promised the wine ; 
But his kind wife gave me the very sign. 



363 



ELEGY XYI. 



THE EXPOSTULATIOX. 



To make the doubt clear, that no woman 's true, 
Was it my fate to prove it strong in you ? 
Thought I, but one had breathed purest air, 
And must she needs be false, because she 's fair ? 
Is it your beauty's mark, or of your youth. 
Or your perfection not to study truth ? 
Or think you heaven is deaf, or hath no eyes. 
Or those it hath smile at your perjuries ? 
Are vows so cheap with women, or the matter 
Whereof they 're made, that they are writ in 

water. 
And blown away with wind ? Or doth their breath 
(Both hot and cold) at once make life and death ? 
Who could have thought so many accents sweet 
Formed into words, so many sighs should meet, 
As from our hearts, so many oaths, and tears 
Sprinkled among (all sweetened by our fears) 
And the divine impression of stolen kisses, 
That sealed the rest, should now prove empty 

blisses ? 
Did you draw bonds to forfeit ? sign to break ? 
Or must we read you quite from what you speak, 
And find the truth out the wrong way ? or must 
He first desire you false, who 'd wish you just ? 



364 ELEGIES. 

0, I profane : though most of women be 
This kind of beast, my thoughts shall except thee, 
My dearest Love ; though froward jealousy 
With circumstance might urge thy inconstancy, 
Sooner I '11 think the sun will cease to cheer 
The teeming earth, and that forget to bear : 
Sooner that rivers will run back, or Thames 
With ribs of ice in June will bind his streams ; 
Or Nature, by whose strength the world endures. 
Would change her course, before you alter yours. 
But oh ! that treacherous breast, to whom weak 

you 
Did trust our counsels, (and we both may rue, 
Having his falsehood found too late,) 't was he 
That made me cast you guilty, and you me ; 
Whilst he (black wretch) betrayed each simple 

word 
We spake, unto the cunning of a third ; 
Curst may he be, that so our love hath slain, 
And wander on the earth, wretched as Cain, 
Wretched as he, and not deserve least pity ; 
In plaguing him let misery be witty. 
Let all eyes shun him, and he shun each eye, 
Till he be noisome as his infamy ; 
May he without remorse deny God thrice, 
And not be trusted more on his soul's price ; 
And after all self-torment when he dies, 
May wolves tear out his heart, vultures his eyes ; 
Swine eat his bowels ; and his falser tongue, 
That uttered all, be to some raven flung ; 



ELEGIES. 365 

And let his carrion corse be a longer feast 
To the King's dogs, than any other beast. 
Now I have curst, let us our love revive ; 
In me the flame was never more alive ; 
T could begin again to court and praise. 
And in that pleasure lengthen the short days 
Of my life's lease ; like painters, that do take 
Delight, not in made works, but whilst they make. 
I could renew those times, when first I saw 
Love in your eyes, that gave my tongue the law 
To like what you liked ; and at masks and plays 
Commend the self-same actors, the same ways ; 
Ask how you did, and often, with intent 
Of being ofiicious, be impertinent ; 
All which were such soft pastimes, as in these 
Love was as subtly catched, as a disease ; 
But, being got, it is a treasure sweet, 
Which to defend is harder than to get : 
And ought not to be profaned on either part. 
For though 't is got by chance, 't is kept by art. 



ELEGY XVn. 

' Whoever loves, if he do not propose 
The right true end of love, he 's one, that goes 

\To sea for nothing but to make him sick : 
Love is a bear-whelp born, if we o'er-lick 



366 ELEGIES. 

Our love, and force it new strong shapes to 

take, 
We err, and of a lump a monster make. 
Were not a calf a monster, that were grown 
Faced like a man, though better than his own ? 
/ Perfection is in unity : prefer 
/ One woman first, and then one thing in her. 
I, when I value gold, may think upon 
The ductileness, the application, 
The wholesomeness, the ingenuity. 
From rust, from soil, from fire ever free : 
But if I love it, 't is because 't is made 
By our new nature (use) the soul of trade. 
All these in women we might think upon 
(If women had them) and yet love but one. 
Can men more injure women than to say 
They love them for that, by which they 're not 

they? 
Makes virtue woman ? must I cool my blood 
Till I both be, and find one, wise and good ? 
May barren angels love so. But if we 
Make love to woman ; virtue is not she : 
As beauties, no, nor wealth ; he that strays thus 
From her to hers, is more adulterous 
Than if he took her maid. Search every sphere 
And firmament, our Cupid is not there : 
He 's an infernal god, and underground. 
With Pluto dwells, where gold and fire abound ; 
Men to such gods their sacrificing coals 
Did not on altars lay, but pits and holes : 



ELEGIES. 367 

Although we see celestial bodies move 
Above the earth, the earth we till and love : 
So we her airs contemplate, words, and heart, 
And virtues ; but we love the centric part. 
Nor is the soul more worthy, or more fit 
For love, than this, as infinite as it. 
But in attaining this desired place 
How much they err, that set out at the face ! 
The hair a forest is of ambushes. 
Of springs, and snares, fetters, and manacles : 
The brow becalms us, when 't is smooth and 

plain ; 
And when 't is wrinkled, shipwrecks us again. 
Smooth, 't is a paradise, where we would have / 
Immortal stay ; but wrinkled, 't is a grave. ^ 
The nose (like to the sweet meridian) runs 
Not 'twixt an east and west, but 'twixt two 

suns ; 
It leaves a cheek, a rosy hemisphere 
On either side, and then directs us where 
Upon the islands fortunate we fall. 
Not faint Canaries, but ambrosial. 
Unto her swelling lips when we are come, 
We anchor there, and think ourselves at home, 
For they seem all : there sirens' songs, and there 
"Wise Delphic oracles, do fill the ear ; 
Then in a creek, where chosen pearls do swell, 
The Remora, her cleaving tongue, doth dwell. 
These and the glorious promontory, her chin, 
Being past, the straits of Hellespont, between 



- The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts, 
(Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests) 
Succeeds a boundless sea, but yet thine eye, 
Some island mole^ may scattered there descry. 
And sailing towards her India, in that way 
Shall at her fair Atlantic navel stay , 
Though there the current be the pilot made. 
Yet ere thou be where thou should'st be embayed, 
Thou shalt upon another forest set. 
Where many shipwreck and no further get. 
When thou art there, consider what this chase 
Misspent, by thy beginning at the face. 

Rather set out below ; practise my art ; 
Some symmetry the foot hath with that part, 
Which thou dost seek, and is thy map for that, 
Lovely enough to stop, but not stay at : 
Least subject to disguise and change it is ; 
Men say the Devil never can change his. 
It is the emblem, that hath figured 
Firmness ; 't is the first part that comes to bed. 
Civility we see refined : the kiss. 
Which at the face began, transplanted is. 
Since to the hand, since to the Imperial knee. 
Now at the Papal foot delights to be : 
If kings think that the nearer way, and do 
Rise from the foot, lovers may do so too. 
For as free spheres move faster far than can 
Birds, whom the air resists ; so may that man. 
Which goes this empty and ethereal way. 
Than if at beauty's enemies he stay. 



ELEGIES. 369 

Rich Nature hath in women wisely made 
Two purses, and their mouths aversely laid : 
They then, which to the lower tribute owe. 
That way, which that exchequer looks, must go : 
He which doth not, his error is as great, 
As who by clyster gives the stomach meat. 



TO HIS MISTRESS GOING TO BED. 

Come, Madam, come, all rest my powers defy, 
Until I labor, I in labor lie. 
The foe ofttimes, having the foe in sight, 
Is tired with standing, though he never fight. 
Off with that girdle, like heaven's zone glittering, 
But a far fairer world incompassing. 
Unpin that spangled breastplate, which you wear, 
That the eyes of busy fools may be stopt there ; 
Unlace yourself, for that harmonious chime 
Tells me from you, that now it is bedtime.. 
Off with that happy busk, which I envy, 
That still can be, and still can stand so nigh. 
/Your gown going off such beauteous state reveals, 
I As when through flowery meads the hill's sha- 
dow steals. 
Off with that wiry coronet, and show 
The hairy diadem, which on your head doth grow : 
24 



370 ELEGIES. 

^ow off with those shoes, and then softly tread 
\In this Love's hallowed temple, this soft bed. 
In such white robes heaven's angels used to be 
Revealed to men : thou, angel, bring'st with thee 
A heaven like Mahomet's paradise ; and though 
111 spirits walk in white, we easily know 
By this these angels from an evil sprite ; 
Those set our hairs, but these our flesh upright. 

License my roving hands, and let them go 
Before, behind, between, above, below, 
O my America ! my Newfoundland ! 
My kingdom's safest, when with one man manned. 
My mine of precious stones, my empery, 
How am I blest in thus discovering thee ! 
To enter in these bonds is to be free ; 
Then where my hand is set, my seal shall be. 
/Full nakedness, all joys are due to thee ! 
I As souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, 
^\To taste whole joys. Gems which you women use 
Are, like Atlanta's ball, cast in men's views, 
That when a fool's eye lighteth on a gem, 
His earthly soul may court that and not them. 
Like pictures, or like books' gay coverings made, 
For laymen are all women thus arrayed ; 
Themselves are only mystic books, which we 
(Whom their imputed grace will dignify) 
Must see revealed. Then since that I may know, 
As liberally as to thy midwife show 
Thyself; cast all, yea, this white linen hence ; 
"^^ There is no penance due to innocence."" 



ELEGIES. 371 

To teach thee, I am naked first ; why, then, 
What need'st thou have more covering than a 
man ? 



ELEGY ON HIS MISTRESS. 

By our first strange and fatal interview, 

By all desires, which thereof did ensue, 

By our long starving hopes, by that remorse, 

Which my words' masculine persuasive force 

Begot in thee, and by the memory 

Of hurts, which spies and rivals threatened me, 

I calmly beg. But by thy father's wrath, 

By all pains, which want and divorcement hath, 

I conjure thee ; and all the oaths, which I 

And thou have sworn to seal joint constancy, 

Here I unswear, and overswear them thus ; 

Thou shalt not love by ways so dangerous. 

Temper, O fair love. Love's impetuous rage. 

Be my true mistress still, not my feigned page; 

I '11 go, and, by thy kind leave, leave behind 

Thee, only worthy to nurse in my mind 

Thirst to come back ; O, if thou die before 

My soul from other lands to thee shall soar, 

Thy (else almighty) beauty cannot move 

Rage from the seas, nor thy love teach them love, 



372 ELEGIES. 

Nor tame wild Boreas' harshness ; thou hast read 
How roughly he in pieces shivered 
Fair Orithyia, whom he swore he loved. 
Fall ill or good, 't is madness to have proved 
Dangers uuurged : feed on this flattery, 
That absent lovers one in the other be. 
Dissemble nothing, not a boy, nor change 
Thy body's habit, nor mind ; be not strange 
To thyself only, all will spy in thy face 
A blushing, womanly, discovering grace. 
Bichly clothed apes, are called apes ; and as soon 
Eclipsed, as bright, we call the moon the moon. 
Men of France, changeable chameleons. 
Spittles of diseases, shops of fashions, 
Love's fuellers, and the rightest company 
Of players which upon the world's stage be, 
Will quickly know thee ; and. no less alas. 
The indifferent Italian, as we pass 
His warm, land, well content to think thee page. 
Will hunt thee with such lust, and hideous rage. 
As Lot's fair guests were vext. But none of these, 
Nor spungy hydroptic Dutch, shall thee displease, 
If thou stay here. O stay here ; for, for thee 
England is only a worthy gallery. 
To walk in expectation, till from thence 
Our greatest king call thee to his presence. 
When I am gone, dream me some happiness, 
Nor let thy looks our long-hid love confess ; 
Nor praise, nor dispraise me ; nor bless, nor curse 
Openly love's force ; nor in bed fright thy nurse 



ELEGIES. 373 

With midnight's startings, crying out, oh ! oh ! 
Nurse, oh ! my love is slain ; I saw him go 
O'er the white Alps alone ; I saw him, I, 
Assailed, taken, fight, stabbed, bleed, fall, and die. 
Augur me better chance, except dread Jove 
Think it enough for me to have had thy love. 



UPON 3^IE. THOMAS CORYAT'S CRUDITIES. 

Oh to what height will love of greatness drive 

Thy learned spirit, sesqui-superlative ? 

Venice's vast lake thou hast seen, and would'st 

seek then. 
Some vaster thing, and found'st a courtesan ; 
That inland sea having discovered well, 
A cellar gulf, where one might sail to hell 
From Heidelberg, thou long'st to see : and thou 
This book, greater than all, producest now, 
Infinite work ! which doth so far extend, 
That none can study it to any end. 
'T is no one thing, it is not fruit, nor root, 
Nor poorly limited with head or foot. 
If man be therefore man, because he can 
Reason and laugh, thy book doth half make man, 



374 ELEGIES. 

One half being made, thj modesty was such, 
That thou on th' other half would'st never touch. 
When wilt thou be at full, great lunatic ? 
Not till thou exceed the world ? Canst thou be 

like 
A prosperous nose-born wen, which sometimes 

grows 
To be far greater than the mother nose ? 
Go, then, and as to thee, when thou didst go, 
Munster did towns, and Gesner authors show, 
Mount now to Gallo-Belgicus ; appear 
As deep a statesman as a garreteer. 
Homely and famiharly, when thou com'st back. 
Talk of Will Conqueror, and Prester -Jack. 
Go, bashful man, lest here thou blush to look 
Upon the progress of thy glorious book. 
To which both Indies sacrifices send ; 
The West sent gold, which thou didst freely 

spend, 
Meaning to see 't no more upon the press : 
The East sends hither her deliciousness ; 
And thy leaves must embrace w^hat comes from 

hence, 
The myrrh, the pepper, and the frankincense. 
This magnifies thy leaves ; but if they stoop 
To neighbor wares, when merchants do unhoop 
Voluminous barrels ; if thy leaves do then 
Convey these wares in parcels unto men ; 
If for vast tons of currants, and of figs, 
Of med'cinal and aromatic twigs, 



ELEGIES. 375 

Thy leaves a better method do provide, 
Divide to pounds, and ounces subdivide ; 
If they stoop lower yet, and vent our wares, 
Home manufactures to thick popular Fairs ; 
If omnipregnant there, upon warm stalls 
They thatch all wares for which the buyer calls ; 
Then thus thy leaves we justly may commend, 
That they all kind of matter comprehend. 
Thus thou, by means which th' ancients never 

took, 
A pandect mak'st, and universal book. 
The bravest heroes for their country's good, 
Scattered in divers lands their limbs and blood ; 
Worst malefactors, to whom men are prize. 
Do public good, cut in anatomies ; 
So will thy book in pieces, for a lord, 
Which casts at Portescue's, and all the board. 
Provide whole books ; each leaf enough will be 
For friends to pass time, and keep company. 
Can all carouse up thee ? no, thou must fit 
Measures, and fill out for the half-pint wit. 
Some shall wrap pills, and save a friend's life so ; 
Some shall stop muskets, and so kill a foe. 
Thou shalt not ease the critics of next age 
So much as once their hunger to assuage : 
iSFor shall wit-pirates hope to find thee lie 
All in one bottom, in one library. 
Some leaves may paste strings there in, other 

books, 
And so one may which on another looks, 



376 ELEGIES. 

Pilfer, alas ! a little wit from you ; 

But hardly much ; and yet I think this true. 

As Sibyl's was, your book is mystical. 

For every piece is as much worth as all. 

Therefore mine impotency I confess, 

The healths, which my brain bears, must be far 

less; 
Thy giant wit o'erthrows me, I am gone ; 
And, rather than read all, I would read none. 



ELEGY. 

The heavens rejoice in motion ; why should I 
Abjure my so much loved variety, 
And not with many youth, and loved, divide ? 
Pleasure is none, if not diversified. 
The sun, that sitting in the chair of light, [bright, 
Sheds flame into what else soever doth seem 
Is not contented at one Sign to inn. 
But ends his year, and with a new begins.* 
All things do willingly in change delight. 
The fruitful mother of our appetite : 
Rivers the clearer and more pleasing are. 
Where their fair-spreading stream runs wide and 
clear ; 

* Doth a new begin ? 



I 



ELEGIES. 377 

And a dead lake, that no strange bark doth greet, 

Corrupts itself, and what doth live in it. 

Let no man tell me such a one is fair. 

And worthy all alone my love to share. 

Nature in her hath done the liberal part 

Of a kind mistress, and employed her art 

To make her lovable ; and I aver 

Him not humane, that would turn back from her ; 

I love her well ; and would, if need were, die 

To do her service. But follows it that I 

Must serve her only, when I may have choice ? 

The law is hard, and shall not have my voice. 

The last I saw in all extremes is fair, 

And holds me in the sunbeams of her hair ; 

Her nymphlike features such agreements have, 

That I could venture with her to the grave : 

Another's brown, I like her not the worse ; 

Her tongue is soft, and takes me with discourse ; 

Others, for that they well descended were. 

Do in my love obtain as large a share, 

And though they be not fair, 't is much with me 

To win their love only for their degree ; 

And though I fail of my required ends. 

The attempt is glorious, and itself commends. 

How happy were our sires in ancient time. 

Who held plurality of loves no crime ! 

With them it was accounted charity 

To stir up race of all indifferently ; 

Kindreds were not exempted from the bands, 

Which with the Persians still in usaore stands. 



378 ELEGIES. 

Women were then no sooner asked than won ; 
And what they did was honest, and well done. 
But since this little * honor hath been used. 
Our weak credulity hath been abused ; 
The golden laws of nature are repealed, 
Which our first fathers in such reverence held ; 
Our liberty's reversed, and charter's gone, 
And we made servants to Opinion ; 
A monster in no certain shape attired, 
And whose original is much desired ; 
Formless at first, but growing on it fashions, 
And doth prescribe manners and laws to nations. 
Here love received immedicable harms, 
And was despoiled of his daring arms ; 
A greater want than is his daring eyes. 
He lost those awful wings with which he flies ; 
His sinewy bow, and those immortal darts. 
Wherewith he 's wont to bruise resisting hearts. 
Only some few, strong in themselves, and free, 
Retain the seeds of ancient liberty ; 
Following that part of love, although deprest, 
And make a throne for him within their breast ; 
In spite of modern censures him avowing 
Their sovereign, all service him allowing. 
Amongst which troop, although I am the least, 
Yet equal in perfection with the best, 
I glory in subjection of his hand. 
Nor ever did decline his least command ; 

* Title ? 



ELEGIES. 379 

For in whatever form the message came, 

My heart did open, and receive the same. 

But time will in its course a point descry, 

When I this loved service must deny ; 

For our allegiance temporary is ; 

With firmer age return our liberties. 

What time in years and judgment we reposed, 

Shall not so easily be to change disposed ; 

Nor to the art of several eyes obeying, 

But beauty with true worth securely weighing ; 

Which being found assembled in some one, 

We '11 love her ever, and love her alone. 



i 



380 

EPITHALAMIONS, 

OR 

MARRIAGE SONGS. 



AN EPITHALAJVIION 

ON FREDERICK COUNT PALATINE OF THE RHINE, 
AND THE LADY ELIZABETH, BEING MARRIED 
ON ST. valentine's DAY. 

I. 

Hail, Bishop Valentine, whose day this is. 

All the air is thy diocese, 

And all the chirping choristers 
And other birds are thy parishioners : 

Thou marriest every year 
The lyric lark, and the grave whispering dove ; 
The sparrow, that neglects his life for love ; 
The household bird with the red stomacher ; 

Thou mak'st the blackbird speed as soon 
As doth the goldfinch or the halcyon ; 
The husband cock looks out, and straight is sped, 
And meets his wife, which brings her feather-bed ; 
This day more cheerfully than ever shine. 
This day, which might inflame thyself, old 

Valentine. 



i 



EPITHALAMIONS. 381 

II. 

Till now thou warm'dst with multiplying loves 

Two larks, two sparrows, or two doves ; 

All that is nothing unto this, 
For thou this day couplest two phoenixes. 

Thou mak'st a taper see 
What the sun never saw, and what the ark 
(Which was of fowl and beasts the cage and park) 
Did not contain, one bed contains, through thee ; 

Two phoenixes, whose joined breasts 
Are unto one another mutual nests ; 
Where motion kindles such fires as shall give 
Young phoenixes, and yet the old shall live : 
Whose love and courage never shall decline, 
But make the whole year through thy day, O 
Valentine. 



Up then, fair phoenix bride, frustrate the sun ; 

Thyself from thine aiFection 

Tak'st warmth enough, and from thine eye 
All lesser birds will take their jollity. 

Up, up, fair bride, and call 
Thy stars from out their several boxes, take 
Thy rubies, pearls, and diamonds forth, and make 
Thyself a constellation of them all : 

And by their blazing signify, 
That a great princess falls, but doth not die ; 
Be thou a new star, that to us portends 
Ends of much wonder ; and be thou those ends. 



382 EPITIIALAMIONS. 

Since thou dost this day in new gloiy shine, 
May all men date records from this day,* 
Yalentine. 

IV. 

Come forth, come forth, and as one glorious flame. 

Meeting another, grows the same. 

So meet thy Frederick, and so 
To an inseparable union go ; 

Since separation 
Falls not on such things as are infinite. 
Nor things, which are but one, can disunite, 
You 're twice inseparable, great, and one. 

Go then to where the bishop stays, 
To make you one, his way, which divers ways 
Must be effected ; and when all is past. 
And that ye are one, by hearts and hands made fast, 
You two have one way left yourselves to entwine, 
Besides this bishop's knot, O Bishop Valentine. 



But oh ! what ails the sun, that here he stays 
Longer to-day than other days ? 
Stays he new light from these to get ? 

And finding here such stores, is loath to set ? 
And why do you two walk 

So slowly paced in this procession ? 

Is all your care but to be looked upon, 

And be to others spectacle and talk ? 



EPITHALAMIONS. 38 

The feast with gluttonous delays 
Is eaten, and too long their meat they praise ; 
The masquers come late, and I think will stay, 
Like fairies, till the cock crow them away. 
Alas ! did not antiquity assign 
A night, as well as day, to thee, Valentine ? 



They did, and night is come : and yet we see 

Formalities retarding thee. 

What mean these ladies, which (as though 
They were to take a clock in pieces) go 

So nicely about the bride ? 
A bride, before a good-night could be said, 
Should vanish from her clothes into her bed, 
As souls from bodies steal, and are not spied. 

But now she is laid : what though she be ? 
Yet there are more delays ; for where is he ? 
He comes, and passes through sphere after 

sphere ; 
First her sheets, then her arms, then anywhere. 
Let not this day, then, but this night be thine, 
Thy day was but the eve to this, O Valentine. 



Here lies a she sun, and a he moon there ; 
She gives the best light to his sphere, 
Or each is both, and all, and so 

They unto one another nothing owe ; 



384 EPITHALAMIONS. 

And yet they do, but are 
So just and rich in that coin which they pay, 
That neither would, nor needs, forbear nor stay ; 
Neither desires to be spared, nor to spare : 

They quickly pay their debt, and then 
Take no acquittances, but pay again ; 
They pay, they give, they lend, and so let fall 
No such occasion to be liberal. 
More truth, more courage in these two do shine. 
Than all thy turtles have and sparrows, Valentine. 



And by this act of these two phoenixes 

Nature again restored is ; 

For since these two are two no more. 
There's but one phoenix still, as was before. 

Rest now at last, and we 
(As Satyrs watch the sun's uprise) will stay 
Waiting when your eyes opened let out day. 
Only desired, because your face Ave see ; 

Others near you shall whispering speak, 
And wagers lay, at which side day will break, 
And win by observing then whose hand it is. 
That opens first a curtain, hers or his ; 
This will be tried to-morrow after nine. 
Till which hour we thy day enlarge, Valentine. 



EPITHALAMIONS. 385 



ECLOGUE. 

DECEMBER 26, 1613. 

Allophanes finding Idios in the Countiy in Christmas time, 
reprehends his absence from Court, at the Marriage of the 
Earl of Somerset ; Idios gives an account of his purpose 
therein, and of his actions there. 

ALLOPHANES. 

Unseasonable man, statue of ice. 
What could to country's solitude entice 
Thee, in this year's cold and decrepit time ? 
Nature's instinct draws to the warmer clime 
Ev'n smaller birds, who by that courage dare 
In numerous fleets sail through their sea, the air. 
What delicacy can in fields appear, 
Whilst Flora herself doth a frieze jerkin wear ? 
Whilst winds do all the trees and hedges strip 
Of leaves, to furnish rods enough to whip 
Thy madness from thee, and all springs by frost 
Have taken cold, and their sweet murmurs lost ? 
If thou thy faults or fortunes would'st lament 
With just solemnity, do it in Lent : 
At court the spring already advanced is, 
The sun stays longer up ; and yet not his 
25 



386 EPITHALAMIONS. 

The glory is ;*far other, other fires ; 

First zeal to prince and state ; then love's desires 

Burn in one breast, and like heaven's two great 

lights, 
The first doth govern days, the other nights. 
And then that early light, which did appear 
Before the sun and moon created were, 
The prince's favor, is diffused o'er all. 
From which all fortunes, names, and natures fall ; 
Then from those wombs of stars, the bride's 

bright eyes, 
At every glance a constellation flies. 
And sows the court with stars, and doth prevent 
In light and power the all-eyed firmament. 
First her eyes kindle other ladies' eyes. 
Then from their beams their jewels' lustres rise, 
And from their jewels torches do take fire ; 
And all is warmth and light and good desire. 
Most other courts, alas ! are like to hell, 
Where in dark plots fire without light doth dwell : 
Or but like stoves, for lust and envy get 
Continual but artificial heat ; 
Here zeal and love, grown one, all clouds digest, 
And make our court an everlasting east. 
And canst thou be from thence ? 

iDios. No, I am there : 

As heaven, to men disposed, is ev'ry where, 
So are those courts, whose princes animate. 
Not only all their house, but all their state. 



EPITHALAMIONS. 387 

Let no man think, because he 's full, be bath all ; 
Kings (as their pattern, God) are liberal 
Not only in fulness but capacity. 
Enlarging narrow men to feel and see, 
And comprehend, the blessings they bestow. 
So reclused hermits oftentimes do know 
More of heaven's glory, than a worldling can. 
As man is of the world, the heart of man 
Is an epitome of God's great book 
Of creatures, and man need no further look ; 
So 's the country of courts, Avhere sweet peace doth, 
As their own common soul, give life to both. 
And am I then from court ? 

ALLOPHANEs. Drcamcr thou art. 

Think'st thou, fantastic, that thou hast a part 
In the Indian fleet, because thou hast 
A little spice or amber in thy taste ? 
Because thou art not frozen, art thou warm ? 
Seest thou all good, because thou seest no harm ? 
The earth doth in her inner bowels hold 
Stuff well disposed, and which would fain be 

gold: 
But never shall, except it chance to lie 
So upward, that heaven gild it with his eye ; 
As for divine things, faith comes from above, 
So, for best civil use, all tinctures move 
From higher powers ; from. God, religion springs ; 
Wisdom and honor, from the use of kings ; 
Then unbeguile thyself, and know with me, 
That angels, though on earth employed they be, 



0»» EPITHALAMIONS. 

Are still in heaven ; so is he still at home 
That doth abroad to honest actions come. 
Chide thyself then, O fool, which yesterday 
Might'st have read more than all thy books 

bewray : 
Hast thou a history, which doth present 
A court, where all affections do assent 
Unto the king's, and that, that kings are just ? 
And where it is no levity to trust, 
Where there is no ambition but to obey. 
Where men need whisper nothing, and yet may ; 
Where the king's favors are so placed, that all 
Find that the king therein is liberal 
To them, in him, because his favors bend 
To virtue, to the which they all pretend ? 
Thou hast no such ; yet here was this, and more, — 
An earnest lover, wise then, and before. 
Our little Cupid hath sued livery, 
And is no more in his minority ; 
He is admitted now into that breast 
Where the king's counsels and his secrets rest. 
What hast thou lost, ignorant man ? 

iDios. I knew 

All this, and only therefore I withdrew. 
To know and feel all this, and not to have 
Words to express it, makes a man a grave 
Of his own thoughts ; I would not therefore stay 
At a great feast, having no grace to say. 
And yet I 'scaped not here ; for being come 
Full of the common joy, I uttered some. 



EPITHALAMIONS. 389 

Read then this nuptial song, which was not made 
Either the court or men's hearts to invade ; 
But since I am dead and buried, I could frame 
. No epitaph, which might advance my fame, 
So much as this poor song, which testifies 
I did unto that day some sacrifice. 



I. THE TIME OF MARRIAGE. 

Thou art reprieved, old year, thou shalt not die, 
Though thou upon thy death-bed lie, 

And should'st within five days expire ; 
Yet thou art rescued from a mightier fire, 

Than thy old soul, the sun. 
When he doth in his largest circle run. 
The passage of the West or East would thaw, 
And open wide their easy liquid jaw 
To all our ships, could a Promethean art 
Either unto the northern pole impart 
The fire of these inflaming eyes, or of this 
loving heart. 



II. EQUALITY OF PERSONS. 

But undiscerning Muse, which heart, which eyes, 
In this new couple dost thou prize, 
When his eye as inflaming is 

As hers, and her heart loves as well as his ? 



390 EPITHALAMIONS. 

Be tried by beauty, and than 
The bridegroom is a maid, and not a man ; 
If by that manly courage they be tried. 
Which scorns unjust opinion, then the bride 
Becomes a man : should chance or envy's art 
Divide these two, whom nature scarce did part, 
Since both have the inflaming eye, and both the 
lovinoj heart ? 



III. RAISING OF THE BRIDEGROOM. 

Though it be some divorce to think of you 
Single, so much one are you two, 
Let me here contemplate thee 
First, cheerful bridegroom, and first let me see, 

How thou prevent'st the sun, 
And his red foaming horses dost outrun ; 
How, having laid down in thy sovereign's breast 
All businesses, from thence to reinvest [art 

Them, when these triumphs cease, thou forward 
To show to her, who doth the like impart, 
The fire of thy inflaming eyes, and of thy loving 
heart. 



IV. RAISING OF THE BRIDE. 

But now to thee, fair bride, it is some wrong, 
To think thou wert in bed so long : 



EPITHALAMIONS. 391 

Since soon thou liest down first, *t is fit 
Thou in first rising should allow for it. 

Powder thy radiant hair, 
Which if without such ashes thou would'st w^ear, 
Thou who, to all which come to look upon, 
Wert meant for Phcebus, would'st be Phaeton. 
For our ease give thine eyes the unusual part 
Of joy, a tear ; so quencht, thou may'st impart, 
To us that come, thy inflaming eyes ; to him, thy 
loving heart. 

V. HER APPARELLING. 

Thus thou descend'st to our infirmity, 

Who can the sun in water see ; 

So dost thou, when in silk and gold 
Thou cloud'st thyself; since we, which do behold. 

Are dust and worms, 't is just 
Our objects be the fruits of worms and dust. 
Let every jewel be a glorious star ; 
Yet stars are not so pure as their spheres are. 
And though thou stoop to appear to us in part. 
Still, in that picture thou entirely art, 
Which thy inflaming eyes have made within his 
loving heart. 

Vr. GOING TO THE CHAPEL. 

Now from your east you issue forth, and we, 
As men, which through a cypress see 



392 EPITHALAMIONS. 

The rising sun, do think it two, 
So, as you go to church, do think of you : 

But that veil being gone, 
By the church-rites you are from thenceforth one. 
The church triumphant made this match before. 
And now the militant doth strive no more. 
Then, reverend priest, who God's recorder art, 
Do from bis dictates to these two impart 
All blessings which are seen, or thought, by 
angel's eye or heart. 

VII. THE BENEDICTION. 

Blest pair of swans, may you interbring 
Daily new joys, and never sing : 
Live, till all grounds of wishes fail. 

Till honor, yea till wisdom grow so stale. 
That new great heights to try. 

It must serve your ambition, to die ; 

Raise heirs, and may here to the world's end live 

Heirs from this king to take thanks ; you, to give. 

Nature and grace do all, and nothing art ; 

May never age or error overthwart 

With any west these radiant eyes, with any 
north this heart. 

VIII. FEASTS AND REVELS. 

But you are over-blest. Plenty this day 
Injures ; it causeth time to stay ; 



EPITHALA5II0XS. 393 

The tables groan, as though this feast 
Would, as the flood, destroy all fowl and beast. 

And were the doctrine new [true ; 

That the earth moved, this day would make it 
For every part to dance and revel goes. 
They tread the air, and fall not where they rose. 
Though six hours since the sun to bed did part 
The masks and banquets will not yet impart 
A sunset to these weary eyes, a centre to this 
heart. 

IX. THE bride's going TO BED 

Wbat mean'st thou, bride, this company to keep ? 

To sit up, till thou fain would sleep ? 

Thou may'st not, when thou'rt laid, do so. 
Thyself must to him a new banquet grow, 

And you must entertain. 
And do all this day's dances o'er again. 
Know", that if sun and moon together do 
Rise in one point, they do not set so too. 
Therefore thou may'st, fair bride, to bed depart ; 
Thou art not gone being gone ; where'er thou art, 
Thou leav'st in him thy watchful eyes, in him thy 
loving heart. 

X. THE BEIDEGROOM's COMIXG. 

As he that sees a star fall, runs apace 
And finds a jelly in the place, 



394 EPITHALAMIONS. 

So doth the bridegroom haste as much, 
Being told this star is fall'ii, and finds her such. 

And as friends may look strange 
By a new fashion, or apparel's change, 
Their souls, though long acquainted they had 

been, 
These clothes, their bodies, never yet had seen. 
Therefore at first she modestly might start. 
But must forthwith surrender every part 
As freely, as each to each before gave either hand 

or heart. 

XI. THE GOOD-NIGHT. 

Now, as in Tullia's tomb one lamp burnt clear, 
Unchanged for fifteen hundred year, 
May these love-lamps we here enshrine, 

In warmth, light, lasting, equal the divine. 
Fire ever doth aspire, 

And makes all like itself, turns all to fire, — 

But ends in ashes ; which these cannot do, 

For none of these is fuel, but fire too. 

This is joy's bonfire, then, where love's strong arts 

Make of so noble individual parts 

One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving 
hearts. 



IDIOS. 

As I have brought this song, that I may do 
A perfect sacrifice, I'll burn it too. 



EPITHALAMIONS. 395 

ALLOPIIANES. 

No, Sir, this paper I have justly got, 
For in burnt incense the perfume is not 
His only, that presents it, but of all ; 
"Whatever celebrates this festival 
Is common, since the joy thereof is so. 
Nor may yourself be priest : but let me go 
Back to the court, and I will lay't upon 
Such altars as prize your devotion. 



EPITHALAJVnON 

MADE AT Lincoln's inn. 

The sunbeams in the east are spread. 
Leave, leave, fair bride, your solitary bed ; 
No more shall you return to it alone ; 
It nurseth sadness ; and your body's print. 
Like to a grave, the yielding down doth dint. 
You and your other you meet there anon ; 
Put forth, put forth, that warm balm-breathing 
thigh. 
Which when next time you in these sheets will 
smother, 
There it must meet another, 

Which never was, but must be oft more nigh ; 



dyb EPITHALAMIONS. 

Come glad from thence, go gladder than you 

came, 
To-day 'put on 'perfection^ and a woman's name. 

Daughters of London, you which be 
Our golden mines, and furnished treasury ; 
j You which are angels, yet still bring with you 
Thousands of angels on your marriage-days, 
Help with your presence, and devise to praise 

These rites, which also unto you grow due. 
Conceitedly dress her, and be assigned 
By you fit place for every flower and jewel. 

Make her for love fit fuel 

As gay as Flora, and as rich as Ind ; 
So may she fair and rich, in nothing lame. 
To-day put on perfection, and a ivoman^s name. 

And you, frolic patricians, 

Sons of those senators, wealth's deep oceans ; 

Ye painted courtiers, barrels of others' wits ; 
Ye countrymen, who but your beasts love none ; 
Ye of those fellowships, whereof he's one, 
i|Of study and play made strange hermaphro- 
i dites, 

Here shine ; this bridegroom to the Temple 
bring. 
Lo, in yon path, which store of strewed flowers 
graceth, 
The sober virgin paceth ; 

Except my sight fail, 't is no other thing. 



EPITHALAMIONS. 397 

Weep not, nor blush, here is no grief nor shame ; 
To-day 'put on perfection^ and a ivoman's name. 

Thy two-leaved gates, fair temple, unfold, 
And these two in thy sacred bosom hold, 

Till, mystically joined, but one they be ; 
Then may thy lean and hunger-starved womb 
Long time expect their bodies, and their tomb, 

Long after their own parents fatten thee. 

All elder claims, and all cold barrenness, 
All yielding to new loves, be far forever. 

Which might these two dissever ; 

Always all the other may each one possess ; 
For the best bride, best worthy of praise and 

fame, 
To-day puis on perfection, and a icomcui's name. 

Winter days bring much delight, 

Not for themselves, but for they soon bring night ; 

Other sweets wait thee than these diverse meats. 
Other disports than dancing jollities. 
Other love-tricks than glancing with the eyes, 

But that the sun still in our half-sphere sweats ; 

He flies in winter, but he now stands still ; 
Yet shadows turn ; noon-point he hath attained, 

His steeds will be restrained, 

But gallop lively down the western hill : 
Thou shalt, when he hath run the heaven's half- 
frame, 
To-night put on perfection, and a ivoman's name. 



398 EPITHALAMIONS. 

The amorous evening star is rose ; 

Why then should not our amorous star inclose 

Herself in her wished bed ? Release your 
strings, 
Musicians, and dancers, take some truce 
With these your pleasing labors, for great use 

As much weariness as perfection brings. 

You, and not only you, but all toiled beasts, 
Rest duly ; at night all their toils are dispensed ; 

But in their beds commenced 

Are other labors, and more dainty feasts. 
She goes a maid, who, lest she turn the same. 
To-night puts on perfection, and a woman's name. 

Thy virgin's girdle now untie, 

And in thy nuptial bed (love's altar) lie 

A pleasing sacrifice ; now dispossess 
Thee of these chains and robes, which were put on 
To adorn the day, not thee ; for thou alone, _^ 

Like virtue and truth, art best in nakedness ; / 

This bed is only to virginity 
A grave, but to a better state a cradle. 

Till now thou wast but able 

To be what now thou art ; then that by thee 
No more be said, I may he, but I am. 
To-night put on perfection, and a woman's name. 

Even like a faithful man content. 

That this life for a better should be spent, 



EPITHALAMIONS. 399 

So she a mother's rich style doth prefer, 
And at the bridegroom's wished approach doth He 
Like an appointed lamb, when tenderly 

The priest comes on his knees to embowel her. 
Now sleep or watch with more joy ; and, oh light 
Of heaven, to-morrow rise thou hot and early ; 
This sun will love so dearly 

Her rest, that long, long we shall want her 
sight. 
Wonders are wrought, for she, which had no 

name. 
To-night puts on perfection, and a ivoman's name. 



END OF THE EPITHALAMIONS, OR MARRIAGE SONGS. 



SATIRES. 



SATIRE I. 



Away, thou changeling motley humorist, 
Leave me, and in this standing wooden chest. 
Consorted with these few books, let me lie 
In prison, and here be coffined, when I die. 
Here are God's conduits, grave divines ; and here 
Is nature's secretary, the philosopher ; 
And wily statesmen, which teach how to tie 
The sinews of a city's mystic body ; 
Here gathering chroniclers, and by them stand 
Giddy fantastic poets of each land. 
Shall I leave all this constant company, 
And follow headlong wild uncertain thee ? 
First swear by thy best love here, in earnest, 
(If thou, which lov'st all, canst love any best,) 
Thou wilt not leave me in the middle street. 
Though some more spruce companion thou dost 

meet ; 
Not though a captain do come in thy way. 
Bright parcel-gilt, with forty dead men's pay ; 
Not though a brisk, perfumed, pert courtier 
Deign with a nod thy courtesy to answer ; 



SATIRES. 401 

Nor come a velvet justice with a long [strong, 
Great train of blue coats, twelve or fourteen 
Wilt thou grin or fawn on him, or prepare 
A speech to court his beauteous son and heir. 
For better or worse take me, or leave me : 
To take and leave me is adultery. 

monstrous, superstitious Puritan, 

Of refined manners, yet ceremonial man. 

That, when thou meet'st one, with inquiring eyes. 

Doth search, and like a needy broker prize 

The silk and gold he wears, and to that rate. 

So high or low, dost raise thy formal hat : 

That wilt consort none, till thou have known 

What lands he hath in hope, or of his own ; 

As though all thy companions should make thee 

Jointures, and marry thy dear company. 

Why should'st thou (that dost not only approve. 

But in rank itchy lust, desire and love. 

The nakedness and barrenness to enjoy 

Of thy plump muddy whore, or prostitute boy) 

Hate Virtue, though she naked be and bare ? 

jAt birth and death our bodies naked are ; 

1 And, till our souls be unapparelled 

Of bodies, they from bliss are banished : 
Man's first blest state was naked ; when by sin 
He lost that, he was clothed but in beast's skin, 
And in this coarse attire which I now wear, 
With God and with the Muses I confer.-™-, 
But since thou, hke a contrite penitent, 
Charitably warned of thy sins, dost repent 
26 



402 SATIRES. 

These vanities and giddinesses, lo 

I shut my chamber door, and come, let's go. 

But sooner may a cheap whore, who hath been 

Worn out by as many several men in sin. 

As are black feathers, or musk-colored hose, 

Name her child's right true father 'mongst all 

those ; 
Sooner may one guess, who shall bear away 
The infantry of London hence to India ; 
And sooner may a gulling weather-spy. 
By drawing forth heaven's scheme, tell certainly 
"What fashioned hats or ruffs, or suits, next year 
Our gid'dy-headed antic youth will wear ; 
Than thou, when thou depart'st from me, can 

show 
Whither, why, when, or with whom thou would'st 

go. 
But how shall I be pardoned my offence. 
That thus have sinned against my conscience ? 
Now we are in the street ; he first of all, 
Improvidently proud, creeps to the wall ; 
And so imprisoned and hemmed in by me, 
Sells for a little state his liberty. 
Yet though he cannot skip forth now to greet 
Every fine silken painted fool we meet, 
He them to him with amorous smiles allures, 
And grins, smacks, shrugs, and such an itch 

endures. 
As 'prentices or school-boys, which do know 
Of some gay sport abroad, yet dare not go ; 



SATIRES. 403 

And as fiddlers stop lowest at highest sound, 

So to the most brave stoops he nigh'st the 

ground ; 
But to a grave man he doth move no more 
Than the wise politic horse would heretofore, 
Or thou, O elephant, or ape, wilt do, 
When any names the king of Spain to you. 
Now leaps he upright, jogs me, and cries, " Do 

you see 
Yonder well-favored youth ? " " Which ? " " Oh ! 

't is he 
That dances so divinely." "Oh," said I, 
" Stand still, must you dance here for company ? " 
Re drooped ; we went, till one (which did excel 
/The Indians in drinking his tobacco well) 
' Met us : they talked ; I whispered, " Let us go ; 
'T may be you smell him not, truly I do." 
He hears not me, but on the other side 
A many-colored peacock having spied. 
Leaves him and me ; I for ray lost sheep stray ; 
He follows, overtakes, goes on the way, 
Saying, " Him, whom I last left, all repute 
For his device, in handsoming a suit. 
To judge of lace, pink, panes, print, cut, and plait. 
Of all the court to have the best conceit." 
" Our dull comedians want him, let him go ; 
But oh ! God strengthen thee, why stoop'st thou 

so?" 
" Why, he hath travelled long ; no, but to me 
Which understood none, he doth seem to be 



404 SATIRES. 

Perfect French and Italian." I replied 

*' So is the pox." He answered not, but spied 

More men of sort, of parts and qualities ; 

At last his love he in a window spies, 

And, like light dew exhaled, he flings from me 

Violently ravished to his lechery. 

Many there were, he could command no more ; 

He quarrelled, fought, bled ; and, turned out of 

door, 
Directly came to me, hanging the head. 
And constantly awhile must keep his bed. 



SATIRE II. 

Sir, though (I thank God for it) I do hate 

Perfectly all this town, yet there's one state 

In all ill things so excellently best, [rest. 

That hate towards them breeds pity towards the 

Though poetry indeed be such a sin. 

As I think that brings dearth and Spaniards in ; 

Though, like the pestilence and old fashioned love, 

Riddlingly it catch men, and doth remove 

Never, till it be starved out, yet their state 

Is poor, disarmed, like Papists, not worth hate.->^ 

One (like a wretch, which at bar judged as dead, 

Yet prompts him, which stands next, and cannot 

read, 
And saves his life) gives idiot actors means, 
\ (Starving himself) to live by 's labored scenest 



SATIRES. 405 

As in some organ puppets dance above, 
And bellows pant below which them do move, 
One would move love by rhymes ; but witchcraft's 

charms, 
Bring not now their old fears, nor their old 
harms ; 
( Rams and slings now are silly battery, 
' PistoUers are the best artillery. 
/•And they who write to lords, rewards to get, 
/ Are they not like singers at doors for meat ? 
And they who write, because all write, have still 
The excuse for writing, and for writing ill. 
But he is worst, who (beggarly) doth chaw 
^.Others' wit's fruits, and in his ravenous maw, 
;Rankly digested, doth those things oulspew, 
As his own things ; and they 're his own, 't is true ; 
iFor if one eat my meat, though it be known j,*/*^ 

^The meat was mine, the excrement is his own. 
But these do me no harm, nor they which use 
To outdo dildoes, and out-usure Jews, 
To outdrink the sea, to outswear the litany. 
Who with sin's all kinds as familiar be 
As confessors, and for whose sinful sake 
Schoolmen new tenements in hell must make ; 
Whose strange sins canonists could hardly tell 
In which commandment's large receipt they dwell. 
But these punish themselves. The insolence 
Of Coscus only breeds my just offence, [pox. 
Whom time (which rots all, and makes botches 
And plodding on must make a calf an ox, 



406 SATIRES. 

Hath made a lawyer ; which (alas) of late 

But scarce a poet, jollier of this state 

Than are new beneficed ministers, he throws 

Like nets or lime-twigs, wheresoe'er he goes, 

His title of barrister on every wench. 

And wooes in language of the pleas and bench. 

"A motion, Lady : " " Speak, Coscus." " I have 

been 
In love e'er since tricesimo of the queen. 
Continual claims I 've made, injunctions got 
To stay my rival's suit, that he should not 
Proceed ; spare me, in Hilary term I went ; 
You said, if I returned next 'size in Lent, 
I should be in remitter of your grace ; 
In the interim my letters should take place 
Of affidavits." Words, words^ which would 

tear 
The tender labyrinth of a maid's soft ear 
More, more than ten Slavonians' scoldings, more 
Than when winds in our ruined abbeys roar. 
When sick with poetry and possest with muse 
Thou wast, and mad, — • I hoped ; but men which 

choose 
Law practice for mere gain, bold souls repute 
Worse than imbrotheled strumpets prostitute. 
Now, like an owl-like watchman, he must walk 
His hand still at a bill ; now he must talk 
Idly, like prisoners, which whole months will 

swear. 
That only suretyship hath brought them there, 



SATIRES. 407 

/ And to every suitor lie in every thing, 
[ Like a king's favorite, or like a king : 
Like a wedge in a block, wring to the bar, 
Bearing like asses, and more shameless far 
Than carted whores, lie to the grave judge ; for 
Bastardy abounds not in kings' titles, nor 
Simony and sodomy in churchmen's lives, 
As these things do in him ; by these he thrives. 
Shortly, as th' sea, he'll compass all the land. 
From Scots to Wight, from Mount to Dover- 
strand, 
And spying heirs melting with luxury, 
Satan will not joy at their sins, as he. 
,For (as a thrifty wench scrapes kitchen stuff, 
/ And barrelKng the droppings, and the snuff 
I Of wasting candles, which in thirty year, 
j Relicly kept, perchance buys wedding-cheer,) 
]. Piecemeal he gets lands, and spends as much time 
^Wringing each acre, as maids pulling prime. 
In parchment then, large as the fields, he draws 
Assurances ; big as glossed civil laws. 
So huge, that men (in our time's forwardness) 
Are fathers of the Church for writing less. 
These he writes not ; nor for these written pays, 
. Therefore spares no length, (as in those first days, 
When Luther was profest, he did desire 
Short paternosters, saying as a friar 
Each day his beads ; but having left those laws, 
Adds to Christ's prayer the power and glory 
clause.) 



408 SATIRES. 

But when he sells or changes land, he impairs 

His writings, and (unwatched) leaves out sesheires. 

And slily as any commenter goes by 

Hard words or sense ; or in divinity 

As controverters in vouched texts leave out 

Shrewd words, which might against them clear 

the doubt. 
Where are those spread woods, which clothed 

heretofore 
Those bought lands ? not built, nor burnt within 

door. 
Where the old landlord's troops and alms ? In halls 
Carthusian fasts and fulsome bacchanals 
Equally I hate. Mean's blest. In rich men's 

homes 
I bid kill some beasts, but no hecatombs ; 
None starve, none surfeit so. But O we allow 
Good works as good, but out of fashion now. 
Like old rich wardrobes. But my words none 

draws 
Within the vast reach of th' huge statute laws. 



SATIRE III. 

Kind pity checks my spleen ; brave scorn forbids 
Those tears to issue, which swell my eyelids. 
I must not laugh, nor weep sins, but be wise ; 
Can railing then cure these worn maladies ? 



SATIRES. 409 

Is not our mistress, fair Religion, 
As worthy of our soul's devotion, 
As virtue was to the first blinded age ? 
Are not Heaven's joys as valiant to assuage 
Lusts, as earth's honor was to them ? Alas, 
As we do them in means, shall they surpass 
Us in the end ? and shall thy father's spirit 
Meet blind philosophers in heaven, whose merit 
Of strict life may be imputed faith, and hear 
Thee, whom he taught so easy ways and near 
To follow, damned ? Oh, if thou dar'st, fear 

this: 
This fear great courage, and high valor is. 
Dar'st thou aid mutinous Dutch ? and dar'st thou 

lay 
Thee in ship's wooden sepulchres, a prey 
To leader's rage, to storms, to shot, to dearth ? 
Dar'st thou dive seas, and dungeons of the earth ? 
Hast thou courageous fire to thaw the ice 
Of frozen North discoveries, and thrice 
Colder than salamanders ? Like divine 
Children in the oven, fires of Spain and the line, 
Whose countries limbecs to our bodies be, 
Canst thou for gain bear ? and must every he 
Which cries not goddess to thy mistress, draw. 
Or eat thy poisonous words ? Courage of straw ! 
desperate coward, wilt thou seem bold, and 
To thy foes and his (who made thee to stand 
Sentinel in this world's garrison) thus yield. 
And for forbid wars leave the appointed field ? 



410 SATIRES. 

Know thy foes : the foul devil (he, whom thou 
Striv'st to please) for hate, not love, would allow 
Thee fain his whole realm to be quit ; and as 
The world's all parts wither away and pass, 
So the world's self, thy other loved foe, is 
In her decrepit wane, and thou, loving this. 
Dost love a withered and worn strumpet ; last. 
Flesh (itself s death) and joys, which flesh can 

taste. 
Thou lov'st ; and thy fair goodly soul, which doth 
Give this flesh power to taste joy, thou dost loath. 
Seek true religion : O where ? Mirreus, 
Thinking her unhoused here, and fled from us, 
' Seeks her at Rome, there, because he doth know 
That she was there a thousand years ago ; 
He loves the rags so, as we here obey 
The state-cloth where the prince sate yesterday. 
Crantz to such brave loves will not be enthralled. 
But loves her only, who at Geneva is called 
Religion — plain, simple, sullen, young, 
Contemptuous, yet unhandsome ; as among 
Lecherous humors, there is one that judges 
No wenches wholesome but coarse country 

drudges. 
Grains stays still at home here, and because 
Some preachers, vile ambitious bawds, and laws 
Still new, like fashions, bid him think that she 
Which dwells with us, is only perfect, he 
Embraceth her, whom his godfathers will 
Tender to him, being tender ; as wards still 



SATIRES. 411 

Take such wives as their guardians offer, or 
Pay values. Careless Phrygius, doth abhor 
All, because all cannot be good ; as one. 
Knowing some women whores, dares marry 

none. 
Gracchus loves all as one, and thinks that so 
As women do in divers countries go 
In divers habits, yet are still one kind, 
So doth, so is, Religion ; and this blind- 
ness too much light breeds. But unmoved thou 
Of force must one, and forced but one allow. 
And the right. Ask thy father which is she ; 
Let him ask his. Though truth and falsehood 

be 
Near twins, yet truth a little elder is. 
Be busy to seek her ; believe me this, 
He's not of none, nor worst, that seeks the best : 
I To adore, or scorn an image, or protest, 
I May all be bad. Doubt wisely, in strange way 
/ To stand inquiring right, is not to stray ; 
To sleep or run wrong, is. On a huge hill, 
Cragged and steep. Truth stands ; and he, that will 
Reach her, about must and about it go, 
And what the hill's suddenness resists, win so. 
\Yet strive so, that before age, death's twilight, 
Thy soul rest, for none can work in that night. 
To will implies delay, therefore now do : 
Hard deeds the body's pains ; hard knowledge to 
The mind's endeavors reach ; and mysteries 
Are like the sun, dazzling, yet plain to all eyes. 



412 SATIRES. 

Keep the truth which thou hast found ; men do 

not stand 
In so ill case, that God hath with his hand 
Signed kings' blank-charters to kill whom they 

hate, 
JSIor are they vicars, but hangmen to fate. 
Fool and wretch, wilt thou let thy soiil be tied 
To man's laws, by which she shall not be tried 
At the last day ? Or will it then boot thee 
To say a Philip or a Gregory, 
A Harry or a Martin, taught me this ? 
Is not this excuse for mere contraries. 
Equally strong ? Cannot both sides say so ? 
That thou mayst rightly obey power, her bounds 



Those past, her nature and name 's changed ; to be 

Then humble to her is idolatry. 

As streams are, power is ; those blest flowers, that 

dwell 
At the rough stream's calm head, thrive and do 

well; 
But having left their roots, and themselves given 
To the stream's tyrannous rage, alas ! are driven 
Through mills, rocks, and woods, and at last, almost 
Consumed in going, in the sea are lost : 
So perish souls, which more choose men's unjust 
i Power, from God claimed, than God himself to 

trust. 



413 



SATIRE IV. 

Well ; I may now receive, and die. My sin 

Indeed is great, but yet I have been in 

A purgatory, such as feared hell is 

A recreation, and scant map of this. 

My mind, neither with pride's itch, nor yet hath 

been 
Poisoned with love to see, or to be seen ; 
I had no suit there, nor new suit to show, 
Yet went to court. But as Glare, which did go 
To mass in jest, catched, was fain to disburse 
The hundred marks, which is the statute's curse, 
Before he 'scaped ; so't pleased my destiny 
(Guilty of my sin of going) to think me 
As prone to all ill, and of good as forget- 
ful, as proud, lustful, and as much in debt, 
As vain, as witless, and as false as they 
Which dwell in court, for once going that way. 
Therefore I suffered this. Towards me did run 
A thing more strange, than on Nile's slime the sun 
E'er bred, or all which into Noah's ark came : 
A thing which would have posed Adam to name : 
Stranger than seven antiquaries' studies. 
Than Afric's monsters, Guiana's rarities, 
Stranger than strangers : one, who for a Dane 
In the Dane's massacre had sure been slain, 



414 SATIRES. 

If he had lived then ; and without help dies, 
When next the 'prentices 'gainst strangers rise : 
One, whom the watch at noon lets scarce go bj : 
One, t' whom th' examining justice sure would cry, 
^' Sir, by your priesthood, tell me what you are." 
His clothes were strange, though coarse, and 

black, though bare ; 
Sleeveless his jerkin was, and it had been 
Velvet, but t'was now (so much ground was seen) 
Become tufftaffaty ; and our children shall 
See it plain rash a while, then nought at all. 
The thing hath travelled, and faith, speaks all 

tongues, 
And only knoweth what to all states belongs. 
Made of the accents, and best phrase of all these. 
He speaks one language. If strange meats 

displease. 
Art can deceive, or hunger force my taste : 
But pedant's motley tongue, soldier's bombast. 
Mountebank's drug-tongue, nor the terms of law, 
Are strong enough preparatives to draw 
Me to hear this, yet I must be content 
With his tongue, in his tongue called compliment: 
In which he can win widows, and pay scores. 
Make men speak treason, cozen subtlest whores. 
Out-flatter favorites, or outlie either 
Jovius or Surius, or both together. 
He names me, and comes to me ; I whisper, 

" God ! 
How have I sinned, that thy wrath's furious rod, 



SATIRES. 415 

This fellow, chooseth me " ? He saitli, " Sir, 

I love your judgment ; whom do you prefer. 

For the best linguist ? " and I sillily 

Said that I thought Calepine's dictionary. 

" Nay, but of men, most sweet Sir ? " Beza, then, 

Some Jesuits, and two reverend men 

Of our two academies I named ; here 

He stopt me, and said : " Nay, your apostles were 

Good pretty linguists ; so Panurgus was, 

Yet a poor gentleman ; all these may pass 

By travail ; " then, as if he would have sold 

His tongue, he praised it, and such wonders told. 

That I was fain to say, " If you had lived, Sir, 

Time enough to have been interpreter 

To Babel's bricklayers, sure the tower had stood." 

He adds, " If of court-life you knew the good, 

You would leave loneness." I said, " Not alone 

My loneness is ; but Spartan's fashion. 

To teach by painting drunkards, doth not last 

Now ; Aretine's pictures have made few chaste ; 

No more can princes' courts, though there be 

few 
Better pictures of vice, teach me virtue." 
He, like to a high-stretched lute-string, squeaked, 

« Sir, 
' T is sweet to talk of kings." " At Westminster." 
Said I, " the man that keeps the abbey tombs, 
And for his price doth, with whoever comes, 
Of all our Harrys, and our Edwards talk, 
From kinor to kinsr, and all their kin can walk : 



41 G SATIRES. 

Your ears shall hear nought but kings ; your eyes 

meet 
Kings only ; the way to it is King's-street." 
He smacked, and cried, " He's base, mechanic, 

coarse ; 
So 're all your Englishmen in their discourse. 
Are not your Frenchmen neat ? " " Mine, as you 

see 
I have but one, Sir, look, he follows me." 
" Certes they 're neatly clothed. I of this mind am, 
Your only wearing is your grogaram." 
" Not so, Sir, I have more." Under this pitch 
He would not fly ; I chafed him : but, as itch 
Scratched into smart, and as blunt iron ground 
Into an edge, hurts worse, so I (fool) found, 
Crossing hurt me. To fit my sullenness, 
He to another key his style doth dress. 
And asks, What news ? I tell him of new plays ; 
He takes my hand, and as a still which stays 
A semibrief, 'twixt each drop, he niggardly, 
As loath to enrich me, so tells many a lie. 
More than ten Hollinsheads, or Halls, or Stows, 
Of trivial household trash he knows : he knows 
When the queen frowned or smiled, and he knows 

what 
A subtle statesman may gather of that ; 
He knows who loves whom ; and who by poison 
Hastes to an office's reversion ; 
He knows who hath sold his land, and now doth beg 
A license old iron, boots, shoes, and egg- 



SATIRES. 417 

shells to transport ; shortly boys shall not play 
At span-counter or blow-point, but shall pay 
Toll to some courtier ; and, wiser than all us, 
He knows what lady is not painted. Thus 
He with home-meats cloys me. I belch, spew, spit. 
Look pale and sickly, like a patient, yet 
He thrusts on more ; and as he had undertook 
To say Gallo-Belgicus without book. 
Speaks of all states and deeds, that have been since 
The Spaniards came to th' loss of Amiens. 
Like a big wife, at sight of loathed meat, 
Ready to travail, so I sigh, and sweat 
To hear this macaron talk in vain ; for yet, 
Either my humor or his own to fit, 
He like a privileged spy, whom nothing can 
Discredit, libels now Against each great man. 
He names a price for every office paid ; 
He saith, our wars thrive ill because delayed ; 
That offices are entailed, and that there are 
Perpetuities of them, lasting as far 
As the last day ; and that great officers 
Do with the pirates share and Dunkirkers. 
Who wastes in meat, in clothes, in horse, he notes ; 
Who loves whores, who boys, and who goats. 
I, more amazed than Circe's prisoners, when 
They felt themselves turn beasts, felt myself then 
Becoming traitor, and methought I saw 
One of our giant statutes ope his jaw 
To suck me in, for hearing him ; I found 
That as burnt venomous lechers do grow sound 
27 



418 SATIRES. 

By giving others their sores, I might grow 

Guilty, and he free : therefore I did show 

All signs of loathing ; but since I am in, 

I must pay mine and my forefathers' sin 

To the last farthing. Therefore to my power 

Toughly and stubbornly I bear this cross ; but th' 

hour 
Of mercy now was come. He tries to bring 
Me to pay a fine to 'scape his torturing, 
And says, " Sir, can you spare me ? " I said, 

« Willingly ; " 
" Nay, Sir, can you spare me a crown ? " Thank- 
fully I 
Gave it, as ransom ; but as fiddlers still. 
Though they be paid to be gone, yet needs will 
Thrust one more jig upon you, so did he 
With his long complimental thanks vex me. 
But he is gone, thanks to his needy want. 
And the prerogative of my crown. Scant 
His thanks were ended, when I (which did see 
All the court filled with such strange things as he) 
Ran from thence with such or more haste than 

one. 
Who fears more actions, doth haste from prison. 
At home in wholesome solitariness 
My piteous soul began the wretchedness 
Of suitors at court to mourn, and a trance 
Like his who dream't he saw hell, did advance 
Itself o'er me : such men as he saw there, 
I saw at court, and worse, and more. Low fear 



SATIRES. 419 

Becomes the guilty, not the accuser : then 

Shall I, none's slave, of high born or raised men, 

Fear frowns, and my mistress. Truth, betray thee 

To the huffing, braggart, puft nobility ? 

No, no ; thou, which since yesterday hast been 

Almost about the whole world, hast thou seen, 

O sun, in all thy journey, vanity 

Such as swells the bladder of our court ? I 

Think, he which made your waxen garden, and 

Transported it from Italy, to stand 

With us at London, flouts our courtiers, for 

Just such gay painted things, which no sap nor 

Taste have in them, ours are ; and natural 

Some of the stocks are, their fruits bastard all. 

' T is ten o'clock and past ; all whom the Mews, — ■ 

Baloun, Tennis, Diet, or the stews 

Had all the morning held, now the second 

Time made ready, that day in flocks were found 

In the presence, and I, (God pardon me.) 

As fresh and sweet their apparels be, as be 

The fields they sold to buy them. " For a king 

Those hose are," cry his flatterers ; and bring 

Them next week to the theatre to sell. 

"Wants reach all states. Meseems they do as well 

At stage, as court ; all are players ; whoe'er 

looks 
(For themselves dare not go) o'er Cheapside 

books, 
Shall find their wardrobe's inventory. Now 
The ladies come. As pirates which do know 



420 SATIRES. 

That there came weak ships fraught with cochineal, 
The men board them ; and praise (as they think) 

well 
Their beauties ; they the men's wits ; both are 

bought. 
Why good wits ne'er wear scarlet gowns, I thought 
This cause : these men men's wits for speeches 

buy, 
And women buy all reds, which scarlets dye. 
He called her beauty lime-twigs, her hair net ; 
She fears her drugs ill laid, her hair loose set. 
"Would n't Heraclitus laugh to see Macrine 
From hat to shoe himself at door refine, 
As if the presence were a Moschite ; and lift 
His skirts and hose, and call his clothes to 

shrift, 
Making them confess not only mortal 
Great stains and holes in them, but venial 
Feathers and dust, wherewith they fornicate : 
And then by Durer's rules survey the state 
Of his each limb, and with strings the odds tries 
Of his neck to his leg, and waist to thighs. 
So in immaculate clothes and symmetry 
Perfect as circles, with such nicety 
As a young preacher at his first time goes 
To preach, he enters ; and a lady, which owes 
Him not so much as good-will, he arrests. 
And unto her protests, protests, protests ; 
So much as at Rome would serve to have thrown 
Ten cardinals into the inquisition ; 



SATIRES. 421 

And whispers by Jesu so oft, that a 
Pursuivant would have ravished him away, 
For saying of our lady's psalter. But 't is fit 
That they each other plague, they merit it. 
But here comes Glorius, that will plague them both, 
Who in the other extreme only doth 
Call a rough carelessness good fashion ; 
Whose cloak his spurs tear, or whom he spits on, 
He cares not, he. His ill words do no harm 
To him, he rushes in, as if arm, arm, 
He meant to cry ; and though his face be as ill 
As theirs, which in old hangings whip Christ, still 
He strives to look worse, he keeps all in awe. 
Jests like a licensed fool, commands like law. 
Tired now I leave this place, and but plea-sed so 
As men from jails to execution go. 
Go through the great chamber (why is it hung 
With the seven deadly sins ?) Being among 
Those Ascaparts, men big enough to throw 
Charing-Cross for a bar, men that do know 
No token of worth, but queen's man, and fine 
Living, barrels of beef, and flagons of wine, 
I shook like a spied spy. Preachers, which are 
Seas of wits and arts, you can, then dare 
Drown the sins of this place, for for me. 
Which am but a scant brook, it enough shall be 
To wash the stains away : although I yet 
(With Macabee's modesty) the known merit 
Of my work lessen, yet some wise men shall, 
I hope, esteem my writs canonical. 



422 



SATIRE V. 

Thou shalt not laugh in this leaf, Muse, nor thej, 

Whom any pity warms. He which did lay 

Rules to make courtiers, (he being understood 

May make good courtiers, but who courtiers good ?) 

Frees from the sting of jests, all who in extreme 

Are wretched or wicked : of these two a theme 

Charity and liberty give me. "What is he 

Who officer's rage, and suitor's misery 

Can write in jest? If all things be in all. 

As I think, (since all, which were, are, and shall 

Be, be made of the same elements) 

Each thing each thing implies or represents. 

Then man is a world, in which officers 

Are the vast ravishing seas, and suitors 

Springs, now full, now shallow, now dry, which to 

That which drowns them run: these self reasons do 

Prove the world a man, in which officers 

Are the devouring stomach, and suitors 

Th' excrements which they void. All men are dust : 

How much worse are suitors, who to men's lust 

Are made preys ? worse than dust or worm's 

meat! 
For they eat you now, whose selves worms shall 

eat. 
They are the mills which grind you ; yet you are 
The wind which drives them ; and a wasteful war 



SATIRES. 423 

Is fought against you, and you fight it ; they 
Adulterate law, and you prepare the way, 
Like wittols ; the issue your own ruin is. 
Greatest and fairest empress, know you this ? 
Alas ! no more than Thames' calm head doth know, 
Whose meads her arms drown, or whose corn o'er- 

flow. 
You, Sir, whose righteousness she loves, whom I, 
By having leave to serve, am most richly 
For service paid authorized, now begin 
To know and weed out this enormous sin. 
O age of rusty iron ! Some better wit 
Call it some worse name, if aught equal it. 
The iron age was, when justice w^as sold ; now 
Injustice is sold dearer far ; allow 
All claimed fees and duties, gamesters, anon 
The money, which you sweat and swear for, 's gone 
Into other hands : so controverted lands 
'Scape, like Angelica, the striver's hands. 
If law be in the judge's heart, and he 
Have no heart to resist letter or fee, 
Where wilt thou appeal? Power of the courts below 
Flows from the first main head ; and these can 

throw 
Thee, if they suck thee in, to misery. 
To fetters, halters. But if th' injury 
Steel thee to dare complain, alas ! thou go'st 
Against the stream upwards, when thou art most 
Heavy, and most faint ; and in these labors they, 
'Gainst whom thou shouldst complain, will in thy 

way 



424 SATIRES. 

Become great seas, o'er which when thou shalt be 
Forced to make golden bridges, thou shalt see 
That all thy gold was drowned in them before. 
All things follow their like ; only who have may 

have more. 
Judges are gods ; and he who made them so. 
Meant not men should be forced to them to go 
By means of angels. When supplications 
"We send to God, to dominations, 
Powers, cherubins, and all heaven's courts, if we 
Should pay fees, as here, daily bread would be 
Scarce to kings ; so 't is. Would it not anger 
A stoic, a coward, yea a martyr, 
To see a pursuivant come in, and call 
All his clothes, copes ; books, primers ; and all 
His plate, chalices ; and mistake them away, 
And ask a fee for coming ? Oh, ne'er may 
Fair Law's white reverend name be strumpeted, 
To warrant thefts : she is established 
Recorder to Destiny on earth, and she 
Speaks Fate's words, and tells who must be 
Rich, who poor, who in chairs, and who in jails : 
She is all fair, but yet hath foul long nails, 
With which she scratcheth suitors. In bodies 
Of men, so in law, nails are extremities ; 
So officers stretch to more than law can do. 
As our nails reach what no else part comes to. 
Why bar'st thou to yon officer ? Fool, hath he 
Got those goods, for which erst men bared to 

thee? 



SATIRES. 425 

Fool, twice, thrice, thou hast bought wrong, and 

now hungerly 
Begg'st right, but that dole comes not till these die. 
Thou hadst much, and law's urim and thummim 

trj 
Thou w^ouldst, for more ; and for all hast paper 
Enough to clothe all the great Carrick's pepper. 
Sell that, and by that thou much more shalt leese 
Than Hammon, when he sold his antiquities. 
O wretch ! that thy fortunes should moralize 
^sop's fables, and make tales prophesies. 
Thou art the swimming dog whom shadows 

cozened, 
Which div'st, near drowning, for what vanished. 



SATIEE \L 

Men waite that love and reason disagree, 
But I ne'er saw it exprest as 't is in thee. 
Well, I may lead thee, God must make thee see ; 
But thine eyes blind too, there 's no hope for thee. 
Thou say'st she 's wise and witty, fair and free ; 
All these are reasons why she should scorn thee. 
Thou dost protest thy love, and would'st it show 
By matching her, as she would match her foe ; 
And wouldst persuade her to a worse offence 
Than that, whereof thou didst accuse her wench. 



426 SATIRES. 

Reason there 's none for thee ; but thou mayst vex 
Her with example. Say, for fear her sex 
Shun her, she needs must change ; I do not see 
How reason e'er can bring that must to thee. 
Thou art a match a justice to rejoice. 
Fit to be his, and not his daughter's choice. 
Dried with his threats, she'd scarcely stay with thee. 
And would'st thou have this to choose thee, being 

free? 
Go, then, and punish some soon-gotten stuff; 
For her dead husband this hath mourned enough, 
In hating thee. Thou mayst one like this meet ; 
For spite take her, prove kind, make thy breath 

sweet ; 
Let her see she hath cause, and to bring to thee 
Honest children, let her dishonest be. 
If she be a widow, I '11 warrant her 
She '11 thee before her first husband prefer, 
And will wish thou hadst had her maidenhead, 
(She '11 love thee so) for then thou hadst been dead. 
But thou such strong love and weak reasons hast, 
Thou must thrive there, or ever live disgraced. 
Yet pause awhile, and thou mayst live to see 
A time to come, wherein she may beg thee. 
If thou 'It not pause nor change, she '11 beg thee 

now, 
Do what she can, love for nothing allow. 
Besides, here were too much gain and merchan- 
dise, 
And when thou art rewarded, desert dies. 



SATIRES. 427 

Now thou hast odds of him she loves, he may- 
doubt 
Her constancy, but none can put thee out. 
Again, be thy love true, she '11 prove divine, 
And in the end the good on 't will be thine : 
For though thou must ne'er think of other love, 
And so wilt advance her as high above 
Virtue, as cause above effect can be ; 
'T is virtue to be chaste, which she '11 make thee. 



END OF THE SATIRES. 



428 



IN SACK AM ANCHORAM PISCATORIS, 
a HERBERT * 

Quod crux nequibat fixa, clavique additi, 
(Tenere Christum scilicet, ne ascenderet) 
Tuive Christum devocans facundia, 
Ultra loquendi tempus, addit Anchora : 
Nee hoc abunde est tibi, nisi certae Anchorae 
Addas Sigillum ; nempe symbolum suae 
Tibi debet unda et terra certitudinis. 

Quondam fessus Amor, loquens amato, 
Tot et tanta loquens amica, scripsit : 
Tandem et fessa manus dedit Sigillum. 

Suavis erat, qui scripta dolens lacerando recludi, 
Sanctius in regno magni credebat Amoris 
(In quo fas nihil est rumpi) donare Sigillum ! 

Munde, fluas fugiasque licet, nos nostraque fixi ; 
Deridet motus sancta catena tuos. 

* See page 216. 



429 



TO MR. GEORGE HERBERT, SENT HIM 
WITH ONE OF MY SEALS OF THE AN- 
CHOR AND CHRIST.* 

Qui prius assuetus serpentum fasce tabellas 

Signare (haec nostrte sjmbola parva domus) 
Adscitus domui Domini, patrioque relicto 

Stemmate, nanciscor stemmata jure nova. 
Hinc mihi Crux, primo quae fronti impressa la- 
vacro, 

Finibus extensis, Anchora facta patet ; 
AnchorjB in effigiem Crux tandem desinit ipsam, 

Anchora fit tandem Crux^tolerata diu : 
Hoc tamen ut fiat, Cbristo vegetatur ab ipso 

Crux, et ab affixo est Anchora facta Jesu. 
Nee natalitiis penitus serpentibus orbor ; 

Non ita dat Deus, ut auferat ante data. 
Qua sapiens, dos est ; qua terram lambit et ambit, 

Pestis ; at in nostra sit medicina Cruce 
Serpens, fixa Cruci si sit natura, Crucique 

A fixo nobis gratia tota fluat. 
Omnia cum Crux sint, Crux Anehora fixa, 
sigillum 

Non tam dicendum hoc, quam catechismus erit. 
Mitto, nee exigua, exigua sub imagine, dona, 

Pignora amicitise, et munera, vota, preces : 
Plura tibi accumulet sanctus cognominis Hie, 

Regia qui flavo dona sigillat equo. 

* See page 217. 



430 



AMICISSIMO ET MERITISSIMO BENJ. 
JONSOK 

IN VOLPONEM. 

Quod arte ausus es hie tua, Poeta, 
Si auderent hominum Deique juris 
Consulti veteres sequi semularierque, 
O omnes saperemus ad salutem ! 
His sed sunt veteres araneosi ; 
Tarn nemo veterum est sequutor, ut tu, 
Illos quod sequeris, novator audis. 
Fac tamen quod agis, tuique prima 
Libri canitie induantur hora : 
Nam chartis pueritia est neganda ; 
Nascanturque senes, oportet, illi 
Libri, queis dare vis perennitatem. 
Priscis ingenium facit laborque 
Te parem ; hos superes, ut et futures 
Ex nostra vitiositate sumas, 
Qua priscos superamus et futures. 



431 



DE LIBKO, CUM MUTUARETUR, BIPRESSO, 
DOMI A PUERIS FRUSTRATIM LACER- 
ATO, ET POST REDDITO MANUSCRIPTO. 

DOCTISSIMO AMICISSIMOQUE VIRO D. D. 
ANDREWS. 

Parturitjnt madido quae nixu prasla, recepta, 
Sed quse scripta manu sunt, veneranda magis. 
Transiit in Sequanam Moenus : victoris in gedes, 
Et Francofurtum, te revehente, meat. 
Qui liber in pluteos blattis cinerique relictos, 
Si modo sit praeli sanguine tinctus, abit, 
Accedat calamo scriptus, reverenter habetur, 
Involat et veterum scrinia summa patrum. 
Dicat Apollo modum; pueros infundere libro 
Nempe vetustatem canitiemque novo : 
Nil mirum, medico pueros de semine natos 
Haec nova fata libro posse dedisse novo. 
Si veterem faciunt pueri, qui nuperus, annon 
Ipse pater juvenem me dabit arte senem ? 
Hei miseris senibus ! nos vertit dura senectus 
Omnes in pueros, neminem at in juvenem : 
Hoc tibi servasti pr^estandum, Antique Dierum, 
Quo viso, et vivit, et juvenescit Adam. 
Interea, infirmse fallamus taedia vit^e, 
Libris, et coelorum eemula amicitia : 
Hos inter, qui a te mihi redditus iste libellus, 
Non mihi tarn charus, tarn meus, ante fuit. 



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